\ 



«5 



/ 



CHECKERED LIFE: 



IN THE OLD AND NEW WORLD. 



By rev. J?'L. y^R MEHR. 



' * Times lose no time; nor do they roll idly by : through our senses, they "work 

strange operations on the mind." 

— St. Augustine. 



:<< •':f.«''«/ 






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San Francisco : t^ 
A. L. BANCROFT ^ND COMPANY. 
1877. 



It'i 



ca<\< 







Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by 

REV. J. L. VER MEHR, 
In tlie Ofl&ce of tlie Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



DEDICATION. 



TO ELEONORE AND ADELAIDE. 



*' Having performed my task, I could not help wishing to 
inscribe my simple narrative to some honored name; and 
many were those who presented themselves to my searching 
memoiy, under whose protecting shelter my unpretending 
volume might appear before that many-headed, many- 
hearted despot, the ''Public." I mused long; and, in 
pensive mood, I rose to stroll among my humble flower- 
beds. I gathered flower after flower to form a fragrant 
bouquet, a remembrance of my finished task, and a token 
of affection to one whom I love. 

"Culling and gathering, I was struck by the beauty and 
fragrance of the rose, which, white or red, is fullest and 
freshest and purest. In my fanciful humor, the white rose 
seemed to take a form; and Eleonore, with her modest 
virtue, arose before me, the sweet pupil of my youth, who 
first taught me to love and cherish the excellencies of human 
nature. And her sister, with the richly variegated colors, 
from lightest pink to darkest crimson, portrayed to me the 
treasures of the queenly Adelaide, my faithful companion 
in my pilgrimage over land and ocean. 

**Thus it seemed to me; and I said, 'To them I will 
inscribe the record of a life made sweet by their affection; 
made sweet, indeed, notwithstanding the bitterness of grief 
and disappointment; made more than sweet, O partner of 
my toil ! ' 

" Thus I said; and I thought of the four angels, who, in 
one week of agony, were called from us to the presence of 
Him who united us in bonds eternal; and their innocent 



4 DEDICATION. 

spirits seemed to hover around your names, and to add 
security to my confidence. None, I thought, will have any 
but words of peace and consolation for him, in whom, in- 
deed, times have lost no time." 

These words I wrote fifteen years ago, when publishing 
the First Part of this, my "Checkered Life." 

Years have passed of bliss and sorrow, of light and 
gloom, but your endearing love has never failed. May He, 
who is the source of love and truth, continue to strengthen 
and prepare us for eternal life. 

July, 1877. 



CONTENTS. 



PART I. 

THE OLD WORLD. page 

Chapter I. Early Scenes 9 

II. Enough for a Fortnight 13 

III. St. Anna 17 

IV. Haret Castle , 23 

V. Nothing Remains but Eternity 32 

YI. Preparing for the University 40 

VII. The Museum 48 

VIII. The University 54 

IX. The Army QQ 

X. Academic Honors 75 

XI. The Battle of Louvain 82 

• XII. Two Sisters 93 

XIII. Conflict and Separation 100 

XIV. The World Wide Open 107 

XV. Lady Marie 115 

XVI. What Is To Be, Is 124 

XVII. In the Market 131 

XVIII. A Royal Audience 138 

XIX. A Pastor in the Capital 149 

XX. AVest-End Institute 157 

XXI. A Cloud 166 

XXII. Sunshine 176 

XXIII. Germany and Switzerland 182 

XXIV. Is it Rebecca ? 190 

XXV. The Demand 199 

XXVI. The Flight to Tarshish 207 

XXVII. Decision 217 

XXVIII. Adelaide 225 

XXIX. Rebecca 234 

XXX. The First Home 243 

XXXI. The Dominican 253 

XXXII. A Temptation 262 

XXXIII. The ''Josephine" 269 

Conclusion 274 



6 



CONTENTS. 



PART II. 
THE NEW WORLD. page 

Chapter I. CROSSING the: Atlantic 279 

II. Pelham Priory 283 

III The Church 290 

IV. Riverside 299 

V. Mother is Come! 303 

VI. The Curate 307 

VII. A Temptation 314 

VIII. Clouds 319 

IX. The " George Washington" . . . . : 325 

X. Valparaiso 330 

XI. The Golden Gate 336 

XII. The Gambler's Burial 342 

XIII. The Gallows 347 

XIV. Grace Chapel 355 

XV. Fire and Pestilence 365 

XVI. A Brother Gone to Best 372 

XVII.. Again a Temptation 377 

XVIII. St. Mary's Hall, Sonoma 386 

XIX. Four Angels 392 

XX. Christian Love 400 

XXI. Chapel of the Holy Innocents 404 

XXII. St. Mary's Hall, San Francisco 410 

XXIII. Fire 415 

XXIV. The " Pacific Churchman" 421 

XXV. La Lomita 427 

XXVL House Building 433 

XXVII. Settled in the Country 440 

XXVIII. An Old Patriarch Gone 445 

XXIX. Clogging the Wheel 449 

XXX. Country Preaching 454 

XXXI. My First-Born 460 

XXXII. An Experiment 466 

XXXIII. Farewell, La Lomita ! 470 

Conclusion 474 



Checkered Life. 



PART I. 



CHECKERED LIFE. 



CHAPTER I. 

EARLY SCENES. 

It was in 1813. The rain fell in torrents. I, 
stood at the window, looking in wonder at the 
train of horsemen, wagons, and soldiers of every 
description, passing as in one uninterrupted 
stream. I see them yet, those old French cui- 
rassiers, with their long horse-tails, their large 
cloaks, their weather-beaten features. I hear 
them yet, those half- suppressed imprecations ; the 
**Halt!" succeeded by the far-off "Advance!" 
There was no end. Day after day they passed. 
*^ They are the remainders of the Great Army," 
was the answer £o my questioning ; and I remem- 
ber having thought it must have been a great 
army indeed, of which the remainders were so 
endlessly long. 

The next startling incident was of a more gloomy 
character. I heard the reports of cannon and 
muskets. The house seemed to shake. The doors 
were burst open; wounded men were carried in — 
French soldiers saved from slaughter. I remem- 
ber a Spaniard, young and handsome, mortally 



10 EARLY SCENES. 

wounded. I see yet his kindly smile, when laid 
on a comfortable mattress; and he smiled once 
more, and breathed his last. 

A few months later, I remember coming from 
school. Our house swarmed with Prussian hus- 
sars — some thirty of them at the dining-table ; 
the wine-cellars burst open, and the peaceful fam- 
ily mansion a scene of dissoluteness and uproar. 
I was a boy of five. The novelty pleased me. I 
liked those fine men, with clashing sabres and 
clinking spurs, their loud and boisterous talk, their 
roaring laugh and careless manners. But, in the 
morning, I saw my sweet sister, a maiden of 
twelve, pale and haggard, trembling and shiver- 
ing ; and, approaching the reckless band, on her 
knees implored mercy for her mother, who lay 
at death's door, overcome with fear and anxiety. 
And, when I heard the taunting roar of laughter 
that burst upon her, there was in the boy of five a 
sudden revulsion. I hated the Prussian hussars; 
and even now, after the lapse of half a century, 
Prussia and any thing Prussian. has little favor 
with me. 

Oh, the misery of those days ! During two 
months, one band of those uniformed tyrants suc- 
ceeded another. During two months, they kept 
my father a prisoner in his own house, whilst they 
ransacked it, and turned it into a place of riot ; 
for, in his wrath, he laid a heavy hand on the com- 
mander; and, asserting the rights of a freeman in 
his own domain, he incurred the vengeance of mil- 
itary despotism. At last they went, and for a 



EARLY SCENES. H 

year my memories ai^e of a quiet and peaceful 
character. 

They bring me back to my sixth anniversary, a 
day of joy and pleasure ; gifts bestowed with a 
bountiful liberality; parents' blessing, and a broth- 
er's and sister's affection: and the house throno-ed 
with guests, and the companions of my childhood 
surrounding the youngest heir with tokens of 
sympathy. 

But in midsummer — it was in 1815 — -like far- 
distant thunder, I heard it roaring, sometimes in 
quick succession, sometimes with long intervals ; 
and, when I asked, I was told, " It is the Empe- 
ror's battle." They did not know it was his last ! 
It is now very nearly half a century; but the 
booming of Waterloo's cannon roars yet with 
funeral solemnity in my memory. 

And with its dying echoes ends the bright vis- 
ion of wealth and power as conceived in my child- 
hood. Though not directly opposed to, yet not in 
favor of, the glorious meteor, which, from the siege 
of Toulon up to the brilliant sun of Austerlitz, had 
constantly ascended on the political horizon, my 
family had borne all the w^eight of despotism, and 
next all the crushino^ insolence of the Kestora- 
tion. Its nearly princely wealth, exhausted by 
taxations and contributions, at last received its 
death-blow by the vandalism of those who came to 
restore. Of all the possessions, nothing remained 
but the ancestral home, still occupied by our fam- 
ily ; and I remember well how, day after day, its 
appearance changed ; strange faces were seen 



12 EARLY SCENES. 

haunting its halls and chambers, until I perceived 
that my liberty of rambling about was restrained. 
I felt a pang in my young heart. I felt mortified. 
I was glad when a coach stopped at the gate; and 
my brother and sister and myself took our seats. 
The carriage door was closed, and I never saw my 
ancestral home again. 

Through the tedious hours of a sultry summer 
day the coach rolled on. It finally stopped at a 
small but pleasant dwelling on the banks of the 
picturesque Meuse, where we found our mother. 
There she often used to retire from the rumor and 
tumult of war, which for the last twenty years 
had resounded over our land. To remarkable 
beauty she joined the dignity of a queen. She re- 
ceived us as mothers in those times used to receive 
their children. There was love, but reserve ; 
there was anxious care, but greater pride. And 
she pressed us one after another to her bosom, and 
made us sit down at the supper-table, and took 
herself a seat with all the dignity of former times. 
Ah! it was a sober repast. My brother, a noble 
boy of fifteen years, my sister, a growing maiden 
of thirteen, both felt that life had assumed a new 
and more severe aspect ; and I, when nature's 
wants were satisfied, began to remember with 
longing heart one who that morning had given me 
a parting kiss. Tears filled my eyes, and tears 
filled the eyes of brother and sister; when at last 
I cried with sorrow and an2*uish, ^' Where is 



'to 



ENOUGH FOR A FORTNIGHT. 13 



CHAPTER II. 

ENOUGH FOB A FORTNIGHT. 

I AM of Austrian and Spanish lineage ; for my 
ancestor in the fifth degree was the grandson of 
Don Juan of Austria and Dona Maria de Men- 
doza, and married the granddaughter of Don Juan 
de Requesens, brother of the Spanish Governor of 
the Netherlands. During two centuries my family 
had occupied posts of trust under the then powerful 
government of the Batavian Republic. Mostly 
men of war, they had fought her battles against 
Louis XIV., and his successor, Louis XV. 
Through good management and rich inheritances, 
their wealth had steadily increased. Of an inde- 
pendent spirit, they never were favorable to the 
house of Orange ; nor were they inclined to humor 
the despotism of Napoleon. When the Nether- 
lands Were incorporated with the French Empire, 
my father, the only inheritor of the name and for- 
tune, kept aloof from imperial influence. 

After the battle of Leipsic, the oppressed prov- 
inces began to breathe. Men of influence formed 
various plans for the future. Some (and they were 
the majority) saw nothing better than to recall 
Orange to the head of affairs ; others, and my 
father among them, had a wider range. They 
thought of uniting the Netherlands, from France 



14 ENOUGH FOR A FORTNIGHT. 

to the Elbe, into one empire. I have yet in my 
possession the plans drawn up for that purpose. It 
was a magnificent project. It would have created 
a powerful State, a check on France, on England, 
and on Prussia. It does not matter what part my 
father took in this plan. He was deeply involved. 
He was a man in the meridian of life, thoroughly 
versed in the science of government ; of great 
enterprise ; and, above all, of unconquerable endur- 
ance and perseverance. Orange was recalled ; 
Belgium and Holland united into one petty king- 
dom. The friends of my father mostly contrived 
to make their timely submission ; but he remained 
stern and unbending. His patriotic heart would 
not submit to what afterwards appeared little bet- 
ter than egotistical Louis Phillippe. He became 
dangerous in a time when all was unsettled. He 
was crushed. He sent his family where they were 
comparatively safe. But the kiss which that 
morning he pressed on my brow was the last I 
knew of him during that dreary summer ; and to 
my sobbing cry, "Where is papa?" I received no 
answer but the gloomy silence of my poverty- 
stricken family. 

At last the autumnal leaves began to fall, and 
winter set in with unusual severity. It had cov- 
ered the earth with its frosty mantle ; and, in the 
dusk of approaching evening, we sat in silence, 
remembering more cheerful days ; when the door 
opened, and our father stood before us. 

He looked wearied and careworn. He came 
from the frontiers, where he had been shifting 



ENOUGH FOR A FORTNIGHT. 15 

from place to place. He was exhausted with 
fatigue : he was hungry. He was on his way to 
a place of safety, where he would be nearer his 
friends. He had to go that evening more than 
twelve miles. He would not stay with us. It 
might create suspicion, and disturb our repose. 

Oh, how well I remember that sad, very sad 
evening ! I see yet my father, erect though 
crushed, holding the hand of my mother. My 
brother and sister stood near him, half encircling 
him with their arms. Behind the group stood a 
dark, straight, military man, Colonel P., of the 
Swiss guards, a veteran of eighty years, a trusty 
friend of my father. He brought him '^ from his 
penury " a few -dollars. It needs no effort of mem- 
ory to recall the scene. Silent they stood in mu- 
tual grief, until my father said : 

^' Farewell, Catena ! farewell ! I have enough 
for a fortnight. Trust in God." 

He left in the dark and snowy night. He left 
alone, to wander over a desolate heath ; nor would 
he allow any one to accompany him. My parents 
never met again in this world. 

" Enough for a fortnight /" and what after that ? 
The words resounded strangely in my ears. There 
was a gloomy determination in those words which 
startled me, child as I was. From that moment I 
thought of nothing but of my father. His sudden 
appearance, his altered countenance, his silent de- 
parture, haunted me the whole night. ^' ' Enough 
for a fortnight,' " said I to my mother on the fol- 
lowing morning : " what did papa mean T 



16 ENOUGH FOR A FORTNIGHT. 

And niY mother o-ave me one of those sflances 
which used to strike me dumb. There was no 
idea of repeating the question. 

Why this gUmoe ? Was it reproof ? No ; but 
it was a determined Avill that the subject shouki 
no more be touched. ^ly mother disapproved of 
my father's political course. She took a matter- 
of-fact view of the thinof. Since the case could 
not be altered, it was better to give in. Proud as 
she was, she did not see the use of adhering to 
political creeds when they ruin a fiimily. Per- 
haps she was not wrong. She thought that, with 
a little policy, the favor of the ** powers that be" 
mio'ht be o-ained. Mv father could not bend. 
He thought of nothing but the dream and expec- 
tation of his whole life; my mother, of her family. 

With the instinct of childhood, I abstained from 
further inquiry. But one evening a teamster made 
his appearance, and mysteriously asked if there 
was anv errand to St. Anna. 

I held already my mother's knees. I knew St. 
Anna. 

*' Oh ! lot me go," said I, *' and bring your 
errand. Let me go, let me go I — let me go to 
papa ! " 

How it was I cannot now conceive ; but my 
mother consented. I sprang into the wagon : the 
teamster took his seat, cracked the Avhip ; and I 
actuallv was on mv wav to see him whom since 
that dismal eveninof I had not lost an hour out of. 
sight, and to whom, from this time, I clung with 
feeUnos of even more than filial affection. 



8T. ANNA. 17 



CHAPTER III. 

ST, ANNA. 

Tt was a hamlet on the frontier ; its principal 
feature a respectable-looking inn, with a corpulent, 
good-natured landlord. There were many rooms 
and a large stable. Rooms and stable were always 
well filled. It was the head-quarters of the Dou- 
ane. A dozen " horse-douaniers " were always at 
their post. Theirs was a hard and perilous ser- 
vice. All the inhabitants were smugglers. The 
landlord himself was a smuggler. Between him 
and his warlike guests it was a constant display of 
ruses de guerre. If there was a large convoy of 
contraband to pass, my landlord was ever ready 
with the bottle. But our douaniers were always 
on the alert. In the depth of night some were on 
their lonely posts; and, in the midst of drinking 
and boisterous laughter, you might see them dis- 
appear one after another, take to horse, and gallop 
to the menaced point. The smugglers were mostly 
armed. If they saw a chance, they w^ould fight 
their way through; if not, they would flee, and 
leave their baggage, which then became the prize, 
of the hardy douanier. But revenge soon followed 
such a defeat ; and the life of the douanier who 
had successfully resisted this sort of brigandage 
was li^/tle worth. '^ When we are on our errand," 

2 



18 ST. ANNA. 

said once a smuggler to my father, ^^ive are shroud- 
ed ; and woe to the douanier who steps between us 
and our right !" 

There my father had found a refuge. A little 
room under the roof, and enough for a fortnight, 
was all that remained of wealth and position. In 
that little room I found him, when finally released 
from the confinement in the wagon ; then I rushed 
into his arms, and, covering him with kisses, cried, 
^^Papa, I have come !" 

Oh, the happy, happy days of childhood ! Mis- 
ery, poverty — all is swallowed up in the joy of one 
moment I Oh, the happy night I spent on a hard 
couch, but with the certainty that at least one day 
I should be with him, see him, hear him, talk with 
him 1 

And so I did. Who has not in his life had 
some days of intense happiness, leaving a mark 
which the hand of Time cannot efface, because it 
was the soul, the inmost soul, which received the 
impression ? Such a day was the first day at St. 
Anna, when my father took me about, and showed 
me the premises, the stables, the horses, the arms ; 
and himself enjoyed the loving sympathy of the 
little son, who seemed to be the only one to take 
a heartfelt interest in his forlorn condition. 

And when, that night, I lay down with the 
prospect of leaving the following morning, it was 
with a heavy heart ; it was with the wish, with 
the hope, with the intention, nearly with the de- 
termination, of returning. 



ST. ANNA. 19 

It was noon when I reached my mother's dwell- 
ing. I entered her room with tears. Displeased 
was my mother's eye, almost stern her words : "If 
thus you return, it were better not to go any 
more." I say, almost stern; for there was a mix- 
ture of grief and sorrow, which even then struck 
me with awe and reverence ; for she loved me, 
and tenderly nursed me when very sick ; and she 
taught me to pray. Strange how memories recur ! 
I remember when first she taught me the Lord's 
Prayer ; I remember how she made me kneel and 
follow her words ; I remember how she would kiss 
me good-night ; I remember it ; but my heart 
yearned after my father. 

A few days afterwards, I was with him. How 
this happened, I don't remember. I cannot recol- 
lect it; but I know I was there again, in the little 
upper room. I sat writing copies ; and the copies 
I remember: ^^ Brutus and Cassius were the last of 
the Romans.'' Thus it was written at the head of 
the page ; thus I copied. And I remember the 
story as it fell from my father's lips. When I 
think of this, and recollect how it molded my 
soul, how it formed my disposition, I cannot 
help saying to parents who may read these lines, 
" You have a godlike power over the mind of your 
children. They are, in your hands, like wax; 
whatever they become is your doing. Oh, what 
responsibility w^as laid on you when those children 
began to say ' father and mother'!" 

I remember that, day after day, I had to re- 



20 ST. ANNA. 

turn; day after day, there was something in the 
way ; day after day, the tendrils of the vine clung 
with more strensfth around the tree. And I re- 
member, how, one afternoon, my father said, 
'^ Would you rather stay with me?" And I an- 
swered, ^^ Papa, I want to go anywhere with you." 
^^ But," said my father, "I am very poor, and have 
no place to go to. I must leave here. I have 
been told to leave." And I remember saying, 
"Papa, let me go with you." 

It was so. Suspicious as all newly established 
governments are, a man of my father's mark could 
not be left alone. His party was powerful in rank 
and hereditary traditions. It had, in appearance, 
at least, submitted to the "powers that be"; but 
he whose aim was the public weal would not sub- 
mit. His retreat was soon discovered ; and the 
landlord, though under many obligations to my 
family, could not resist the outward pressure. 
One morning my father put a little bundle on my 
shoulders, took himself a larger one, and we set 
out. 

It was a frosty, clear morning. I never felt 
happier, before nor after, than when I walked at 
my father's side, carrying my little bundle. We 
walked many a mile. Towards the middle of the 
day, we stopped at a house on the roadside. I 
needed rest. A middle-aged lady waited for us. 
I knew her : she was a tried friend of my mother. 
I loved her. I have never seen her since ; but 
forty years thereafter, when she was eighty, I cor- 



ST. ANNA. 21 

responded with her ; and over land and ocean she 
sent me words of love and affection. 

She addressed my father: "Sir," said she, "I 
know Avhere you are going. I respect your opin- 
ions ; but can you involve this poor innocent child 
in your misery? There is a mother to take care 
of him ; there is a sister to love him. I beg you 
let him go with me ; let me return him to the care 
of his mother." 

■ My father smiled. " You are right, madam," 
said he, "but the little fellow loves me. Speak 
with him, and act accordingly." He left the 
room. 

And now the good lady began a regular attack. 
I believe she left no argument untried : my mother, 
my sister, and the playmates and the pleasant vil- 
lage, and the beautiful Meuse, and my comforts, 
and my clothes, and what not — all were repre- 
sented in glowing terms. Then came the contrast : 
my father's utter destitution ; the place to which 
we were going — a castle with heavy walls and 
wide ditches ; no playmates, no clothes, etc. I 
remember very well her long and earnest pleading ; 
but " Brutus and Cassius " gained the mastery. 
She would have done wiser not to mention my 
father's destitution. For clothes I did not care ; 
and all her arguments lost their edge against my 
repeated " I go with papa." 

He re-entered the room. " Well," said he. 
" He wants to go w^ith you," answered the lady. 
" It is well. Leno, take your bundle," said my 



22 ST. ANNA. 

father. I obeyed, and we continued our jour- 
ney. 

I began to be very tired : twelve miles was 
much for a first trip. We arrived at a cross way. 
My father sat down. " Here let us rest," said he ; 
*^ they will soon come." 

"We heard the rattling of a wagon. It stopped. 
An elderly gentleman alighted, and approached 
my father with a mixture of respect and famil- 
iarity. A silent pressure of the hand was all. My 
father lifted me into the wagon, took himself a 
seat ; and, before the sun had reached the horizon, 
we saw its departing beams strike the turrets of 
Haret Castle. We soon entered its dark and 
stately avenue. The massive drawbridge fell ; the 
carriage-wheels resounded over the courtyard. 
We stopped at the emblazoned gate ; and Mrs. de 
Sturler, extending her hand, said to my father, 
" Welcome ! " 



HARET CASTLE. 23 



CHAPTER lY. 

EABET CASTLE. 

The struggle between the Netherlands and 
Spain was protracted during the first half of the 
seventeenth century. The Belgian provinces did 
not succeed in shaking off the yoke of foreign do- 
minion. It was in those days of cruel w^arfare and 
plunder that Haret Castle and several others were 
erected — strong enough to protect against a cowp 
de main, but not capable of sustaining a regular 
siege. Its walls were about ten feet thick, its tur- 
rets just high enough to take a survey of the sur- 
rounding country ; but it had nothing of the 
Gothic style, nothing of the dungeon-like appear- 
ance of the mediaeval castles. A stately avenue 
of nearly two miles' length led to the village of 
Vierlinxbeek, on the banks of the river Meuse. 
The environs were partly covered with a dense 
forest of pine trees, partly with arable land ; whilst 
to the south extended a dreary heath of more than 
fifteen miles. 

We were soon established. My father occupied 
a large apartment, in size, at least, favorably con- 
trasting with the small upper room at St. Anna. 
Its furniture was simple, recalling the memories 
of times past. It had been the banqueting-hall, 
where many a festival must have taken place. 



24 HARET CASTLE. 

The huge chimney, the old portraits, the high- 
backed chairs, the dark windows with their deep 
embrasures, are the principal features which I re- 
member. These last were so deep indeed, that I 
used one of them as a very comfortable nook, 
where, at a little desk, I began my regular studies. 
For my father was a man who, in more than 
common measure, joined practical knowledge to 
theoretical learning. Deeply imbued with clas- 
sical studies, there was scarcely a European lan- 
guage which he had not thoroughly mastered. 
In law and philosophy he had exhausted all the 
resources of the learning of ages. Educated by 
an eminent English scholar, he had finished his 
studies at the University of Leiden. Then he 
began a brilliant career, partly in defending crimi- 
nal cases, partly in acting as secretary to my 
grandfather, who, up to his sixty-third year, held 
a charge of great responsibility. The French dev- 
olution broke out, when he died, and thus was 
spared the grief of foreign invasion, Jacobinic do- 
minion, and Napoleonic absolutism. My father 
was then about twenty-four years old. Independ- 
ent by character and circumstances, he watched 
with interest the progress of the *^ new ideas," and 
their final development into the most oppressive 
military despotism. With others, he saw in Bo- 
naparte the only strong arm capable of saving 
France and part of Europe from chaotic destruc- 
tion. But when the strong arm of Marengo's 
hero began to extend, with unrelenting grasp, over 



HARET CASTLE. 25 

Western Europe, when conscription and taxation 
and proscription and confiscation followed in the 
train of French prefects and military commanders, 
then, with others, he withdrew his unbounded ad- 
miration. His heart sunk within him when he 
met him at a private audience. I remember how, 
in stately court-dress, and flushed with expecta- 
tion, he went ; and I remember the look of sullen 
despair, wherewith, on his return, he answered a 
friend's inquiring, ^^ What do you think of him ? " 
—'"'He has a hard skin!'' Nor could anything 
prevail upon him to show his allegiance by accept- 
ing any favor or public office. He devoted himself 
to the education of his children, and found relief in 
the faithful discharge of a private duty, since he 
could not assume any other. 

Such was my father. Separated from his wife, 
from his eldest son, and from his daughter, he had, 
by providential direction, none left but me upon 
whom to concentrate all his affection and care ; 
and he laid out a plan of study, to which he faith- 
fully adhered during many years. Almost with- 
out any books, he made me study Latin, English, 
German, mathematics, and, strange enough, moral 
philosophy. Positive religion, or, rather, revealed 
religion, had no place in his system. The Bible 
he considered as a venerable record of antiquity. 
He caused me to read it daily ; and it was, so to 
say, my favorite reading. The historical books of 
the Old Testament and the Gospels of the New — 
what can be more interesting even for a child ? 



26 HARET CASTLE. 

What is called natural religion he taught me reg- 
ularly, as before he had taught my brother. Every 
Sunday morning had its two hours set apart for in- 
struction in the intricacies of man's destination, 
mental and moral powers, relations and duties. 

And so I studied during the hours of the day. 
As I said before, without grammars, dictionaries, 
or text-books, he enabled me, when ten years old, 
to read and write understandingly French, Ger- 
man, and English; he carried me through plane 
geometry and the elements of mensuration ; whilst 
in history I was almost as well at home as I ever 
have been since. 

And, when the study -hours were past, he ram- 
bled with me through the woods and over the 
fields; and, whilst I gathered flowers, or chased 
the butterfly, he would sit down and read Tacitus 
or Seneca, his favorite classics, which followed 
him everywhere. I possess them yet, those ven- 
erable relics ; and, whenever I open them, my 
father's image seems to take a form. Memory ! 
what art thou, and where art thou ? Why does 
thy strength increase when other faculties decline? 
Art thou a faculty of the soul, or the soul itself? 
And, when the bodily faculties cease, shall the 
whole be memory ? Shall the whole of our life, 
with all of its feelings, sensations and perceptions, 
be as one vivid stream of joyful recollection or 
woful remembrance? 

Sometimes I had a holiday. Armed with bow 
and arrow, I would rove about, shooting my harm- 



HARET CASTLE. 27 

less weapons upon sparrows and crows, or foxes 
and hares. For miles around there was no nook 
or corner where I did not penetrate ; and, though 
I returned with an empty bag, it benefited my 
health, and made my constitution wiry and endur- 
ing. 

But many clouds obscured those days of childish 
life. Though clinging with all my heart and soul 
to my father, yet did my thoughts often w^ander 
to mv mother, brother and sister. I wrote them 
sometimes ; but the heart yearned after more. I 
knew their residence was twenty miles distant, on 
the same Mouse where I often went to angle ; and 
once my desire to see them became so strong, that 
I made up my mind to go, and, following the wind- 
ings of the river, to walk until I should come to 
their village. I formed this plan during the morn- 
ing studies, a secret for my father — the first, and 
truly the last, in my life. It was four o'clock in 
the afternoon when I left. As I approached the 
river, my heart became heavy. I was not accus- 
tomed to keep anything from my father. I sat 
down. A procession of pilgrims to the celebrated 
shrine of Kevelar was halting for the night — hun- 
dreds of men, women and children singing psalms 
and hymns. They knelt in prayer. It was a 
truly solemn pause. My feelings, excited by 
self-reproach and the consciousness of doing a 
foolish thing, overcame me entirely. I burst 
out in tears, and returned home ; hastening my 
step the more I approached, until, having passed 



28 HARET CASTLE. 

the draw-bridge, I rushed to my father's room, 
threw myself into his arms, weeping, and confess- 
ing my fault, my lack of confidence. I shall never 
forget the agony of self-reproach wherewith I 
clung to his faithful bosom. 

My brother was a youth of sixteen, handsome, 
daring, and of noble disposition. A lieutenancy 
in the army was offered him ; but my father was 
inflexible in his refusal. Then some well-meaning 
friends of my mother offered him an advantageous 
position in one of the West-Indian colonies. The 
proud spirit of my brother could not bear his ac- 
tual, uncertain situation. Strengthened by my 
mother's advice, he accepted. He went on board, 
and from there he wrote his farewell letter to my 
father. And what a letter ! how full of tender- 
ness ! how full of repentance for having taken a 
step without his father's blessing ! "I must un- 
burden my heart," said he. '^ God ! how heavy 
it lies on my conscience to have left you thus ! 
But circumstances forced me. my father ! 
.write me soon, that I may know if you have for- 
given me." 

And, with this letter unfolded in his hand, I 
saw, one afternoon, my father returning from the 
village. It was the first tidings of a step which 
took from him his son, and sent him to a danger- 
ous climate, in a position, which, though advanta- 
geous, he rightly considered as not desirable. All 
his feelings were wounded ; his parental authority 
slighted ; his son gone ; and that son repenting 



HARET CASTLE. 29 

when it Avas too late — yet gone, perhaps, forever. 
I remember how, bending down in grief, he took 
me in his arms, and said, " My only hope and con- 
solation ! " 

The new government had become settled ; yet 
the principal supporter of my father's views, a 
statesman who was at the head of affairs during 
the last years of the Kepublic, continued his cor- 
respondence. Many and many a letter had I 
fetched from the post-office ; and I knew their 
importance by the manner in which my father 
read them, and studied their reply in a writing to 
me not intelligible ; I knew it by expressions 
which now and then escaped him. All at once 
the answers failed to come. My father became 
restless. 

On a beautiful summer evening we returned 
together from the village, and overtook a platoon 
of soldiers, who went to their assigned quarters 
in the neighborhood. When passing them, we 
heard the sergeant express, in forcible words, his 
regret at having left his meerschaum at the mill. 
" I am sorry," said he, ^^but too tired. Let it go ! 
but I am very sorry ! " 

" There," said my father : " we can show a kind- 
ness. We are not so tired. Let us go to the mill 
and restore this man his pipe." 

It was two miles' walk; but I was happy with 
the prospect of the man's joy at recovering so un- 
expectedly his property. We went ; and towards 
dusk we arrived at the quarters. A strong exclam- 



30 HARET CASTLE. 

ation of joy greeted me when I handed the pipe. 
The sergeant wished to reward me ; and, as this 
was declined, he accompanied us with continued 
expressions of gratitude. 

"Comrade," said my father, '^what may be 
your business in this part of the world ? We 
don't see vou often here." 

" Indeed, sir," answered he, " our business is 
none of the most pleasing ; and I wish they had 
left it to the gendarmes." And then, lowering his 
voice, he added, " We have to make an arrest in 
the castle." 

" Indeed ! " said my father. " But what if they 
draw the bridge up ? " 

" We shall surround the castle." 

" But there are only a few of you." 

*^ There is a company of one hundred men, un- 
der Captain B., behind the village." 

" Well, comrade," said my father, after a pause, 
" I think you will succeed." 

" Sir," replied the sergeant, " our order is to 
make the arrest in the castle. You have been 
very kind, sir ; I wish I could render you some 
service." 

" My good friend," rejoined my father, *'I have 
a mind to save yourself and me some trouble. I 
am your prisoner." 

Then I remember the man's rouofh but kindlv 
face took a peculiar expression. 

" And what is to become of this brave little fel- 
low, sir ? Will you have him go between the bay- 
onets to Fort A. ? Will you leave him here ? " 



HARET CASTLE. 31 

*' papa !" cried I, " do not leave me ! " 

" Sir," continued the sergeant, ^' I have no right 
to arrest you. It is my commander who has the 
warrant, and will present himself to-morrow morn- 
ing at Haret Castle. From here to the frontier 
river is only two miles, and you have a night to 
take your measures. May we be spared the 
shame of escorting so brave a gentleman with 
our bayonets otherwise than as a guard of 
honor ! " 

Thus saying, he left us. My father follow^ed 
him with thoughtful eye, took my hand, and we 
walked silently through the dark avenue. It was 
night when we arrived. My father had immedi- 
ately a long conversation with his host, Mr. de S. 
I went to bed, and fell asleep, dreaming of sol- 
diers. 

Early in the morning my father stood before me, 
ready to depart. I had again my little bundle to 
carry. I left with regret a place where I had 
lived some of my happiest days. All was yet 
silent when we passed the court-yard and crossed 
the draw-bridge. Leaving the avenue, we passed 
through the pine forest ; and, avoiding the village, 
we arrived at the ferry just when the rising sun 
began to strike the turrets of Harefc Castle. I 
gave it a last farewell, and entered the boat, which 
carried us soon4o the other shore. For the first 
time that I can remember, I had a painful feeling 
of being homeless and houseless; which, however, 
if possible, seemed to increase the tenacity where- 
with I clung to my father. 



32 NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 



CHAPTER y. 

NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY! 

The country through which we took our journey 
was barren and lonely — a heath extending for more 
than thirty miles, with slight undulations, and here 
and there a bush. . Far on the horizon, I could dis- 
cern the Forest of Cleves — a remnant of the forest 
which once covered the whole of Germany; but 
our path lay on the heath, following the windings 
of the Mouse. 

It was historical ground. It was here that, in 
1574, when a dismal gloom covered the destinies 
of the United Provinces, the brave Count Louis 
of Nassau, the brother of the great William of 
Orange, fell in the bloody battle of Mooker Heath. 
I had long known the story. But my father, to 
lighten the weariness of a long journey, told me, 
all over again, how the Count had sold all his es- 
tates to raise an army of six thousand lancers and 
three thousand footmen ; and how he was met, at 
the place we were crossing, by a superior force un- 
der the Spanish governor, Don Louis de Keque- 
sens ; and how they battled from sunrise till night, 
when, the Count being slain, his army was routed, 
whilst his body could never be found. And though 
the Spanish commander was my direct maternal 
ancestor, yet my heart was all for Count Louis ; 



NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 33 

and in youthful fancy I beheld him, iron-clad, 
spurring his war-horse to the last charge, and cheer- 
ing his followers to a last effort. 

I have seen many battle-fields. I have often 
lingered on the fields of Waterloo ; often on the 
plains of Fontenoy ; often on the grounds of Mor- 
garten, where Switzerland bought her freedom. 
But, on all these, the industrious hand of succeed- 
ing generations has effaced the gloomy remem- 
brances of destructive w^ar ; and waving cornfields, 
luxuriant vineyards, and smiling gardens, make it 
difficult to realize a scene of destruction and blood- 
shed. Not so on the heath of Mook. It was now 
as it w^as two hundred and fifty years ago — the 
same dreary, undulating plain, without thrifty vege- 
tation, without birds, without life ; the same gen- 
tle-flowinof Mouse on one side, the same dark 
forest on the other. We passed the same redoubts 
they had thrown up ; we found the same rusty iron 
bullets, which had lain there two centuries after 
having done their work of death ; we passed the 
same mounds which covered the bodies of the 
thousands who sleep there until the day of judg- 
ment. 

All at once my father stopped on an eminence, 
and pointed toward the Mouse. I gazed with 
spell-bound attention ; for, on the opposite shore, 
I saw a village with its spire. A strange feeling 
came over me. I beofan to see it all. I knew 
that spire, and that dwelling on the high bank of 
the river. It was my mother's dwelling ! There 



34 NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 

she was, with my sister ! I know I trembled all 
over. Nearly two years had passed, and all came 
before my memory in silent sorrow ; and there it 
lay, so beautifully reflected in the silvery river. I 
gazed, and looked up to my father. With glisten- 
ing eye he stood, a little bent, as if sending over 
thoughts of love and affection. I stretched out my 
arms as high as I could reach, till my father caught 
me up and fondly kissed me. Then he said, '^We 
must go, Leno : we must reach Mook before 
dark." 

And so we did. It was evening when we 
knocked at the door of a large two-story house, 
situated on an eminence near the river shore. A 
middle-aged gentleman opened to us. Tall and 
stern, but not commanding, he was very polite, 
and seemed to receive my father as if he were 
expected. He immediately showed him to a large 
apartment with a sleeping-room. Welcome re- 
freshments were set before us; and I soon there- 
after fell asleep in a comfortable bed, leaving my 
father in deep conversation with our unprepossess- 
ing host. 

He was a Frenchman ; one of those plotters who 
try to make themselves available in political 
schemes, and, without aim or plan, delight in in- 
trigue, because they prefer crooked paths and by- 
ways. To all the rapacity and harshness so com- 
mon among borderers, he joined none of their 
redeeming traits. His family was large, all par- 
taking of the same character — deceitful, vindictive 
and rapacious. 



NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 35 

And here I passed another half-year of my boy- 
hood, and, to me, not the less interesting ; for 
therein I began to study Latin — the ultima Thule 
of my childish ambition. And I remember how 
my father procured me two small books — the one 
a little dictionary, the other a Latin Reader. And 
the first sentence I remember : Amicus certus in re 
incerta cernitur ; or, as it may be said in English, 
** A friend in need is a friend indeed." And how 
my father explained to me the sense, and gave, as 
illustration, his own case ; mentioning the friends 
who remained faithful to him, whose names I had 
often read on the address of letters carried by my- 
self — friends who at that time occupied high posi- 
tions. Sweet are these remembrances, and em- 
balmed in the memories of my soul : for I listened 
to his words with the unsullied faith of childhood ; 
and I learned, not only the forms of things, but 
the things themselves in their nature and bearing. 
And, that same year, I studied the Lives of Cor- 
nelius Nepos ; and finding how Atticus, keeping 
aloof from political parties, lived unmolested to an 
old age, I remember saying, "Papa, luhy did not you 
do the same ?" And my father, with his peculiar 
smile, said. In magnis voluisse sat est {" In great 
undertakings, even the will is praiseworthy.") 
Then I said, I would improve the sentence ; and, 
having received permission, said, In magnis noluisse 
melius (" In great things, not to will is safer.") 
My father laughed, and said that I would become 
a poor scholar and a worse statesman. And thus, 



36 NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 

in the midst of dreary privations of all sort, he 
faithfully pursued his plan of studies ; never allow- 
ing a day to pass unimproved. 

And the year 1819 began to draw to an end. 
The winter set in with more than common severity. 
It was the 5th of December — the Eve of St. Nich- 
olas — in those countries a great day of rejoicing for 
children, but to me a day of never-to-be-forgotten 
agony and terror. 

My father's correspondence had been more lively 
than usual ; but his intercourse with Mr. Bular, 
our host, more reserved. For some reason or 
other, that day we had not gone down to our meals. 
I had perceived a Prussian gendarme loitering 
about the house, and was making sundry conjec- 
tures, when I heard my father in the adjoining 
room in deep and passionate conversation with Mr. 
Bular. On his side, it was all protestations of in- 
terest and devotedness ; on my father's side, stern 
and rapidly succeeding questions, involving Mr. 
Bular in the unenviable part of being a common 
traitor. At last came the question direct, '^ What 
about that Prussian ruffian ? What is his busi- 
ness here ?" No answer. My father's anger, 
when roused, was terrible. I heard a scuffling 
movement, and my father's voice, with metallic 
distinctness, urging, " Confess, traitor ! confess ! 
Are there more coming ? Confess, or I throw you 
a corpse on the floor ! " And I heard the words 
deliberately dropping, " They must be near." 
" Then nothing remains hut eternity!'' roared my 



NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 37 

father. I heard him throw the miserable man 
from him, leave the room, descend the stairs, and 
rush oat of the house. 

The truth flashed upon me. The villain had 
sold my father. Prussian gendarmes were near 
to carry him off to one of the fortresses. Woe to 
the political offender who enters their walls ! 
^^ Nothing remains hut eternity /" sounded like the 
wail of death in my ears. I was already down 
stairs, and out of the house. It was a dark and 
cold night, and the Meuse streamed with swollen 
waters. I did not see my father ; but my instinct 
guided me. 

At a little distance from the house was the re- 
mainder of a wharf. There I had often stood 
angling. There I had often rested with my father 
admiring the beauty of a quiet river scenery. 
There I hastened ; and there I found him, stand- 
ing with crossed arms on the brink of self-destruc- 
tion. I came slowly up to him. " papa ! papa ! " 
said I, in whispering agony, " where you go, I go !" 
He could not resist my endearing affection. 
" They chase me like a dog ! " said he. " Listen !" 
I listened, and heard the horsemen taking succes- 
sively their positions around the house. 

I showed my father a small boat attached to 
the wharf I went down first ; he followed. I 
loosened the rope, and gave a hearty push. We 
had no oars ; but a scoop helped us sufficiently to 
reach the opposite shore. We landed at no great 
distance from the village where my mother dwelt. 



o> 



38 NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 

We passed throuo'li it. I saw the lights burning 
and the streets full of happy children. As for me, 
I was hungry, cold, and fatigued. A little way 
from the village my father stopped at a lonely 
dwelling. Colonel P., the same venerable friend 
who was present at the last interview of my parents, 
received him silently, but affectionately. Whilst 
partaking of some needful refreshments, he ex- 
plained to my father how his position had changed. 
The Baron de S., the chief supporter of his views, 
was no more. My father's friends had used all 
their influence to have his personal safety insured. 
^' Go to Sanbeck," he said. " You will find at the 
house of Mr. de Leeuw everything prepared for 
your reception. Go, my w^orthy friend ; and, for 
Heaven's sake, abstain from correspondence." 

The village of Sanbeck w^as about seven miles 
distant. Oh, how well do I remember that night's 
walk ! — the sharp cold, the frosty ground, my dear 
fixther's encouraging voice. And Mr. Bular, and 
the Prussian gendarmes, and the whole ugl}^ con- 
cern of Mook — it was all left behind ; and soon we 
should be safe and well. 

And, about ten o'clock, we approached the dwell- 
ing of Mr. de L. We entered a pleasant family 
room, Avarm and cheerful. And there was Mrs. 
de L., smiling as the bright morning sun, and her 
blooming children, all happy on St. Nicholas Eve; 
and they received us like expected guests ; and I 
had my seat near the warm stove, and my part in 
the St. Nicholas gifts ; and I was happy ^ oh, how 



NOTHING REMAINS BUT ETERNITY. 39 

happy ! until bed-time came, and we were shown 
up stairs ; and our kind hostess took me under her 
especial care — the first blessed woman's care I had 
received since nearly three years ; and our room 
was neat and cheerful, with tidy beds, and roomy 
writing-table, and various books ; and, when we 
were left alone, I encircled my dear father, and 
broke out in tears. That same evening, what re- 
vulsion in position and feelings ! What a differ- 
ence between the death-wail, " Nothing remains 
but eternity I " and the cheerful " Good-night " of 
our amiable hostess ! God ! thou art a good 
God. I have known thy terrors from early youth, 
and " one deep has called to another : " yet I have 
seen an end of sorrow ; but of thy faithful kindness 
never did I find the end, nor even the beginning ; 
for truly our whole life is a continued manifestation 
of thy mercy. 



40 PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 



CHAPTER YI. 

PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 

The remembrance of Sanbeck is sunny all over> 
with one exception, soon to be mentioned. I there 
passed a happy winter, a delightful spring, and 
part of a cheerful summer. Political affairs seemed 
less to pre-occupy my father. There was less of 
letter- writing, less of anxiety. My studies were 
pushed with vigor. Yet my remembrances of 
that period are more of pleasant children's play 
than anything else. Oh the lasting influen-ce of a 
cheerful housewife and mother! Mrs. de Leeuw, is 
always before me, bright and sunny, laughing and 
busy. She had four children, all daughters ; the 
eldest of my age, the youngest a lovely babe of 
two years. This one became my pet. I was un- 
wearied in carrying her about, and playing w^ith 
her ; unwearied in gratifying her little whims and 
caprices. And from that time I always loved 
children, sweet little children. The remembrance 
of little Louise de L. is, even now, like a fragrant 
balm of innocence ; and when, in later years, I in- 
quired after her, my warm enthusiasm for the dear 
child was greeted with the broad smile of worldli- 
ness. She had grown to be a very fascinating 
young lady ! Alas ! I remembered only the sweet 
little Louise, the innocent companion of my early 
boyhood. 



PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 41 

But when the month of April came, with its 
lovely days of spring, my father laid before me a 
letter, communicating the serious illness of my 
dear Valerio, my dear and only brother. And the 
letter was only an introduction to sadder news. 
For, a few days after, came an aged friend, who 
discreetly told the tale of sorrow — how he had 
died just at the point of reaching his eighteenth 
year, a victim of the yellow fever ; how he had 
been attended by good and honorable friends ; how 
he had died with sweet remembrance of his parents : 
yet he died far away, the noble first-born of my 
father ! And I remember his grief ; and how he 
walked forty miles in one day to receive some more 
information ; and how he returned at evening, and, 
throwing his arms around me, sat down weeping 
bitter tears for his high-minded and generous boy. 

And the loss of my brother cast a deep shadow 
over my early years. I could never believe that 
he was dead, really dead ; and for years I thought 
of the possibility of his returning. 

I was now eleven years old. The education 
thus far received had excited in me an intense ad- 
miration of antiquity, and an enthusiastic love of 
liberty. The models of Greece and Rome were 
constantly before me. To the question, what I 
wished to be, there was but one answer — a soldier. 
Even in fencing and horsemanship, my father had 
contrived to give me regular lessons, himself being 
an excellent fencer and horseman. And my youth- 
ful ambition was kindled beyond measure when 



42 PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 

accidentally the works of Yauban came into my 
hands ; and I began to study with unrelenting zeal 
the art of fortifvino\ defendinsf and attackins: cities. 
Next I found the ^' Life and Deeds of that Heroic 
Prince, Eugene of Savoy;" an old German book, 
but which I studied with all the ardor of enthusi- 
astic admiration. And in my Latin studies I pro- 
ceeded with equal zeal ; my father promising me, 
on my twelfth birthday, the Commentaries of 
Csesar, should I make sufficient progress to read 
them. 

And now, in the beginning of summer, there 
came a company of military engineers into our 
neighborhood. I asked my father leave to follow 
them, and observe their instruments and opera- 
tions. Among them was the son of one of my 
father's most faithful friends, himself in high posi- 
tion. I observed my father in frequent conversa- 
tion with him. What was the subject, I do not 
know ; but, after a few days, our host, otherwise 
cheerful and kind, became reserved and cold. Mrs. 
de L. looked sad and careful. One morning, my 
father left with me. She accompanied us to the 
door. Tears were in her eyes. She looked long 
after us, till we were out of sight. We walked 
about six miles, until we came to a small village, 
whei'e my father took an upper room, and seemed 
absorbed in thouofht. There he sat, writinof and 
despatching letter after letter, and receiving many; 
and his mind seemed to be in a violent struggle. 

As far as I can conceive by what followed, his 



PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 43 

friends tried to persuade him to a course of sub- 
mission, and to accept, under the present govern- 
ment, a position which might redeem his fortunes, 
and secure his family against want and humilia- 
tion. But my father's mind was unbending, even 
to stubbornness. Submit to necessity, he would ; 
but as for accepting any favor, he disdained. His 
son was dead. His wife's fortunes he considered 
as separate from his own; since, of her own ac- 
cord, she had taken a different view, and been the 
cause of my brother's departure and ensuing 
death. For himself and me he wished private 
employment. 

In the mean time, I pursued my studies. I re- 
member having finished there, in that dark little 
upper room, a treatise on mensuration, which I 
had begun at Haret Castle ; and I remember the 
triumphant joy wherew^ith I handed my father the 
last sheet. Altogether, the recollection of the 
three months which we passed there is not un- 
pleasant. It was harvest-time, and I enjoyed it 
very much. There were several pensioned officers 
in the same house ; and I delighted hearing them 
relate their various campaigns. 

At last there came a letter which seemed to de- 
cide my father. A position was offered him in the 
city of Woerden — the education of five sons be- 
longing to three families. We left the country 
where we had been shifting about during more 
than four years ; and on the 8th of September, 
1820, we arrived in Woerden. I remember very 



44 PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 

well the strange impression which the paved 
streets and high-story houses made upon my unso- 
phisticated mind. It seemed all like a prison. 
And I missed sadly the sweet liberty of country 
life, and my solitary rambles through fields and 
forest. But the greater loss was my father's con- 
stant personal instruction. Advanced beyond all 
his scholars, I could only enjoy his supervision of 
my studies. 

It was happy that he had laid so solid a foun- 
dation. I went on steadily and zealously ; for my 
twelfth birthday approached, and Caesar's Com- 
mentaries were to be the prize for my diligence. 
And when it came, and a beautiful copy, with 
cheerful, encouraging inscription, was put into my 
hands, I began to translate it into French and 
German — for thus my father made me study the 
modern languages ; and I made extracts, and plans 
of Caesar's campaigns, and Caesar became my fa- 
vorite author. 

One of my father's pupils was the only son of 
the mayor of the city, formerly a captain of the 
engineers in the French army. He was a gentle- 
man of thorough scientific acquirements, benevo- 
lent and exquisitely polite, but weak in health 
since he received a wound in the pillage of the 
town by the French, during their last struggle to 
retain the country. This excellent man took great 
interest in me. Under his direction, I began a 
regular course of fortification ; and my progress 
in other branches allowed me to devote the most 



PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 45 

part of my time to these, for me, so attractive 
studies. My table was constantly covered with 
maps and drawings ; and, although my worthy 
instructor died within a few months, I continued 
with unrelenting perseverance. 

The town of Woerden was a strong fortification, 
surrounded by all the necessary outworks. There 
was also the ancient castle, used as a military 
prison. What suggested the idea,. I do not know; 
but, although just in my thirteenth year, I con- 
ceived the rather gigantic plan of measuring the 
whole, and making a map on a large scale. 

I constructed my own chain and compass, and 
began with the principal rampart and bastions ; 
next, the outworks ; next, the whole town, with 
its public buildings ; next, the surrounding coun- 
try, to the distance of two miles. The whole took 
me a year ; for none of my other studies I neg- 
lected, but gave them the lesser part of my time. 
Great was the astonishment of the people when 
seeing a slender boy walking and pacing and meas- 
uring sedulously from morning till night, and 
marking and delineating it all in his note -book. 
My earnest steadiness created respect, even among 
those who were inclined to mock ; and, during that 
whole year, I do not remember having ever met 
with anything disagreeable. But when some 
friends and acquaintances came to visit us, and 
saw progressively delineated, on a large map of 
some five feet square, the whole of the town and 
walls, and the minute detail of outworks and en- 



46 PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 

virons ; and when each found his house or garden 
or other localities — the wonder was great, and the 
thing was much talked of. I remember having 
hurried my work to finish it before my fourteenth 
birthday, because my father wished me to mark 
under my name : "^t. xiii." 

He was offered a place for me at the Military 
Academy for Cadets ; but this would oblige me to 
become an officer under the existing dominion, and 
he would not consent. 

Nor did I care ; for, with wild enthusiasm, I 
looked beyond the limits of our country. Since 
two years, the war of independence had begun in 
Greece. With what attention did I read the suc- 
cessive accounts ! Athens, Sparta, Corinth, Thebes, 
which until now had been the names of glories 
long departed, seemed to rise again to life. I re- 
membered that one of my lineal ancestors had de- 
feated the Turks in the battle of Lepanto. My 
whole heart was in the contest ; and all I wished 
was to be old enough to go there, and conquer 
fame. *' When I am seventeen, will you let me 
go ? " said I to my father. And he promised me I 
miofht. And I wrote down in short-hand all I 
could gather in the papers concerning the Greek 
war of independence. I did so for three years, 
intending to write its history. 

I had not yet finished my map of the city, when 
my father said, *^ Leno, you are progressing w^ell 
in Latin. I see you read Cicero. It is well. But 
there is one thing you need." *^And what, papa?" 
" You, who love the Greeks so well — you don*t 



PREPARING FOR THE UNIVERSITY. 47 

know a word of Greek ! " It was a stroke of liofht. 
A few books were procured ; and I remember hav- 
ing studied day after day, till I found my way in 
the grammar of this complete and magnificent 
lanor-uaofe. 

In the meantime, all but one of the parents had, 
on account of losses, been obliged to withdraw 
their sons ; and, my father's income being much re- 
duced, he made up by translating several English 
and German works. As I wrote a very distinct hand, 
I used to copy his translations for the press ; and so 
I remember having, besides my map-drawing and 
studying, copied two volumes ; one on the *' Moral 
Improvement of Criminals," another on " Political 
Economy." My father was in this assisted by an 
old acquaintance, Prof Tydeman, of the Univer- 
sity of Leiden. Seeing my good writing, he sent 
some Latin courses, as they used to be dictated in 
the colleges of law and medicine. I copied them; 
and remember having risen regularly at four 
o'clock in the morning, not to lose all my study- 
time : yea, many a night I passed writing, when 
some copy had to be finished within a given time. 
And I see yet the first dollars, as from the loos- 
ened parcel they rolled on the table ! What a pe- 
culiar sensation made by that first money of my 
own earning! Happy times, when in poverty I 
did not feel poor, and the privation of sleep, and 
often of a meal, did not affect me ! Happy times, 
when the growing faculties of the mind seemed to 
defy external pressure, and the few years of my 
life offered nothing to regret, and little to repent I 



48 THE MUSEUM. 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE MUSEUM. 

And thus I studied and copied until the year 
1823 drew to an end. I was now fourteen years 
of age, and it became necessary to decide upon my 
future career. For, if I was to be a civilian, I 
was ready for the university ; if a soldier's life was 
my choice, something else had to be done. And 
Professor Tydeman sent one of his intimate friends, 
a most benevolent but shrewd gentleman, to probe 
me. With him I had an interview ; and he urged 
the necessity of preparing for the university. To 
this I had no objection; but, in the meantime, I 
would not renounce the military glories. In vain 
he argued that the two could not go together. 1 
came boldly forward with Caesar and Agricola. 
At last I nonplussed the good old gentleman ; he 
could not make anything of it ; and, as I after- 
wards heard, he said that the youngster had such 
an unbounded ambition as to make all understand- 
ing impossible. 

However, as my father's labors had become 
more and more literary. Professor T. advised him 
to remove to Leiden, where he would be in a more 
congenial sphere, and where it was supposed that 
the very atmosphere of " Minerva's sacred halls " 
might induce me to relinquish my strong inclina- 
tion toward the more warlike Pallas. 



THE MUSEUM. 49 

And thus we came, on the 1st of January, 1824, 
to the ancient city of Leiden. Our first quarters 
were next to the University Building ; and I must 
say that I was favorably impressed with the ven- 
erable antiquity of the cloister walls, Avhere, in 
1575, William the Taciturn inaugurated the seat 
of European learning ; the portraits of the Rectors 
Magnifici, Avhich decorated the hall ; and the curi- 
ously carved cathedras, from which so many 
luminaries of the learned world had spoken their 
oracles. 

And when, on the anniversary of the illustrious 
university, coinciding with my own fifteenth, I 
heard the Latin oration of the Rector Magnificus, 
and beheld the victorious competitors, in ancient 
costume, receiving the golden prizes, with com- 
mending speeches, under the more or less prolonged 
applause of their fellow-students, then I began to 
think that laurels could be gained at the univer- 
sity ; and I resolved, if I became a student, once 
to be crowned with gold. And this favorable 
opinion was strengthened when I assisted at a pro- 
motion, as it is called, more majorum, " according 
to ancient usage," when the candidate, in goAvn 
and cape, during three days in succession, defends 
his dissertation and theses, the first day against 
any university professor, the second against any 
doctor, the last against any civis academicus or 
student. This severe trial, requiring for a youth 
considerable nerve, a wide range of learning, and 



50 THE MUSEUM. 

great fluency in the Latin tongue, seemed to me 
almost as glorious as a battle. 

I became acquainted with many professors and 
students, and had plenty of copying work ; and, as 
I made my copies with taste and intelligence, I 
was amply rewarded, increasing at the same time 
my stock of knowledge. The academical year her 
ginning in September, I had several months to 
prepare myself. Meeting accidentally with an old 
copy of Milton's '^ Paradise Lost," I began to ap- 
prehend tuhat an epic poem was. With unbridled 
ardor I studied the Greek " Iliad," the Latin 
*^^neid," the French " Henriade," the German 
" Messiad," comparing them wdth the English 
" Paradise Lost ; " and I remember having come 
to the conclusion that, for invention and sublime 
simplicity of language, the Greek '' Iliad," but for 
depth of thought and strength, as well as sweet- 
ness of expression, the English " Paradise Lost," 
is superior. 

Immediately after the university celebration 
above mentioned, I wished to surprise my father 
on his birthday with a Latin dissertation ; and I 
chose the Life of Scipio Africanus. I wished to 
show him my desire of uniting learning with war- 
like pursuits. It was the dream of my youth, too 
intellectually trained for the mere material of a 
soldier's life ; too fiery of temper and too strained 
in ambition for the peaceful avocations of a literary 
man, even in the cathedras of L. And I presented 
him, on the 1st of March, with a neatly bound 



THE MUSEUM. 51 

volume, the writing as near like print as possible ; 
and this little gift kept me from persevering in a 
by-way which might have made my career even 
less satisfactory than it has been. 

The University of Leiden is celebrated for its 
Museum of Natural History. I do not know if 
there is anywhere one on a grander scale. I do 
not believe so. I often used to wander in its spa- 
cious galleries, and to admire the thousands of 
specimens of Nature's creation. The space, the 
order, the cleanliness, everything delighted me. 
Now, there was a position vacant as assistant con- 
servator ; and one of our acquaintances insisted 
that I should apply for the same. What induced 
my father or me to think of it, I cannot conceive ; 
for the remuneration was small, the prospects mod- 
erate, and I never had studied natural history. 
Perhaps the novelty had something to do with it. 
At all events, my father went with me to the con- 
servator, a very cold and formal man, and pre- 
sented me as a fit subject for the place. The con- 
servator seemed well pleased ; but when my father, 
with pride excusable, though out of place, handed 
him the Latin dissertation, perhaps to show him 
that I was fit for better things, the man's feelings 
evidently changed. He did not wish so much 
learning ; he objected, etc. However, the agree- 
ment was concluded ; and on the follo\^ing Monday 
I began my novel career. 

Novel it was indeed. The sight of all these in- 
sects, spiders, bats, serpents, tigers, lions, and birds 



52 THE MUSEUM. 

of all description, was very beautiful ; but their 
scientific names and classification I thouo^ht intol- 
erable. However, if my principal had wished to 
attract me, and to introduce me by degrees into 
the mysteries of this science, so new to me, I have 
no doubt but I would have worked it out with my 
usual ardor; and perhaps one day I might have 
satisfied my desire after adventure in some explor- 
ing expedition. But the Latin dissertation came 
to my help. That little book had absolutely dis- 
gusted my chief. He evidently wished to disgust 
me. He gave me, the first day, some thirty pages 
to copy of a catalogue of insects ; the next, some 
fifty bottles to seal and label ; and so on every day. 
I came home about four o'clock, thoroughly satur- 
ated with the abominations of the spirit-smelling 
dead-house, as it now seemed to me ; and, when 
Monday morning came, I said, in a rather decided 
tone, " Papa, I do not want to go back ; I can 
never be a naturalist." My father smiled, I believe 
rather approvingly ; and, though afterwards one 
of my best friends was the succeeding conservator 
of the museum, I never meddled with his investi- 
gations and collections. 

Thus the month of September approached, and 
with it the first great epoch of my life. On the 
20th of the month I was enrolled as a ^'citizen of 
the illustrious university of Leiden." I was de- 
cidedly the youngest of the six hundred ; rather 
small and slender in stature, but full of hope and 
determination. And when, the following day, I 



THE MUSEUM. 53 

went to my first college, my father embraced me, 
and said, " This is an important day, my dear 
Leno: go with my blessing, and remember!" 

This was my father's usual admonition. It was 
the epitome of, " Remember where you came from, 
and what you are to be — the past and the future : 
the past, a line of noble ancestors ; the future, a 
fallen fortune to redeem." 

Thus he used to speak to me in short sentences, 
which sunk deep in my heart, and even now seem 
to speak through the dim distance of times past. 



54 THE UNIVEESITY. 



CHAPTEK VIII. 

THE UNIVERSITY. 

We are naturally disposed to love best what we 
know best, or what is connected with the remem- 
brances of our youth. What gray-haired scholar 
does not prefer his Alma Mater to any other seat 
of learning ? And so do I, through the dim haze 
of a checkered life, behold my Alma Mater with 
all the affection of filial devotion. I may, there- 
fore, be considered a little partial ; but what I 
know of university life in Germany and France 
does not answer the beau ideal which Leiden's 
antique halls have left me. Nowhere have I met 
with so much reality and simplicity, nowhere with 
the same untrammelled freedom, so utterly differ- 
ent from roughness and licentiousness. 

But, although enrolled as a citizen of the uni- 
versity, my youthful pride soon received a terrible 
check ; for there, as in most universities, the new- 
comer was considered as green, until it pleased one 
of the various associations of older students to 
recognize him as a student. During this time of 
probation he is subjected to an endless variety of 
vexations and humiliations. He has no right to 
wear cap, or shirt-collars, or whiskers, or anything 
which might feed the ^^ spirit of pride." He ii: 
obliged to doff his hat to any older student he 



THE UNIVERSITY. 55 

meets. Implicit and unbounded obedience is his 
duty, day and night. Whatever task or labor is 
imposed upon him, he has to perform. No prank 
so foolish, no caper so absurd, but he has to do it 
at command. It is an old custom, and, as such, 
deep rooted ; but it is decidedly a custom wherein 
the evil far exceeds the good it is intended to per- 
form. The most plagued take their revenge the 
next year ; and although I have seen the most 
confirmed dandies reduced to a state of pitiable 
humility, yet, as soon as the restraint was with- 
drawn, they returned to their old habits with an 
additional dose. of peevishness and rancor. But, 
strange to say, during the ten years that I was a 
citizen of the Alma Mater , I never observed a 
case of revenge or continued hostility. The cere- 
mony of reception seemed invariably to carry 
away all bad feelings. 

After three months' intense suffering, my time 
came, and I was summoned to the Illustrious Sen- 
ate Intro uhique. I was ushered into a small room, 
cold and dreary, where I was furnished with the 
subject of my Latin dissertation, which was to 
prove my fitness or unfitness to become a student. 
The subject was, *^ A Discussion between Megalo- 
somus (large body) and Micromorphus (small form) : 
which is to be preferred, a Large or a Small Stat- 
ure i 

There I sat, without books or dictionary, the 
blank sheets of paper before me. As I was small, 
I soon decided to take the defence of my size ; 



56 THE UNIVERSITY. 

and, as I was just attending a course on Plato's 
Dialogues, I began steadily and sedulously, in the 
style of Socrates' discourses, to discuss the argu- 
ment. Three hours was the time allotted ; and I 
had scarcely put the finishing stroke to my work, 
when I was summoned before the Illustrious Sen- 
ate. After a few moments of abuse, my essay was 
put into my hands, and I had to read it. I was a 
mere stripling, and the ^^ senators " were old stu- 
dents ; and although it was their customary duty 
to injure and abuse me, yet I could perceive a 
growing interest in these gentlemen. And, when 
I had finished, the president arose, and, taking a 
cup of wine, he drank it to the health of the new 
student; and all congratulated me, and shook 
hands ; and, having received my diploma, I left 
with feelings of more than common satisfaction. 
For I was aware that my earnest endeavor to do 
'Hhe best I could" had conquered respect; and, 
during several weeks, my essay was in the hands 
of many. 

And now I began to study with renewed zeal, 
and became a favorite with my professors. I was 
also introduced to the Chevalier Van Assen, pro- 
fessor of jurisprudence, who had been secretary to 
the Prince of the Netherlands ; a man of eminent 
talents, great eloquence, and deep wisdom. He 
and Professor Tydeman became my chief protectors, 
and have ever since been my sincere and kind- 
hearted friends, not forgetting me, and, thirty-five 
years later, sending me written words of consola- 
tion and affectionate love. 



THE UNIVERSITY. 57 

And yet the friendship of these two good men 
has been the cause of a great failure in my career. 
Professor T. wished me to perform my studies rap- 
idly, and then to seek in the eastern colony of Java 
a career which might have redeemed our fortunes 
in less than ten years. The chevalier, perceiving 
my decided talent for literature, wished me to be- 
come eminent therein, as well as in political 
sciences, with a view to the tutorship of the young 
princes of the Netherlands. And thus I was hesi- 
tating, and tried to combine w^hat could not nor 
ought to be combined ; and this laid the founda- 
tion, it is true, to wide and solid studies, but it 
broke the first ardor of impulse. 

Yet Providence seemed to interfere, and to de- 
feat at once the plan of Professor T. It was the 
month of November, 1825, and I had entered my 
second university year, attending the lectures on 
Poman law, together with those on ancient litera- 
ture. One night I w^as studying, as was my cus- 
tom, sitting opposite to my dear father, who em- 
ployed himself in some literary work. It was 
midnight. All at once my father's features con- 
tracted, he sank back in his chair, he laid his hand 
on his heart, and with the exclamation *^ God 1 
what is this ?" he remained motionless, and to all 
appearance, dead. 

I called for help, and ran to two physicians in 
our neighborhood. They bled him. He revived, 
but remained speechless, and paralyzed on the loft 
side. 



58 THE UNIVERSITY. 

Whoever has had the patience to read these 
memoirs, may imagine my terror, my grief, my 
sorrow. Since ten years my life had literally been 
wrapped up in his. I loved him, not only as a son 
ought to love his father, but even, if possible, more 
so. He had been all to me ; he had given all to 
me ; my whole existence seemed interwoven with 
his ; and I wept bitter tears when I was told that 
this attack of apoplexy would probably return, and 
take him from me ; and I watched day and night, 
without intermission, and did not sleep for fourteen 
nights, until exhausted nature gave w^ay to the 
pressing instances of the chevalier. 

It was a long and tedious bed of sickness. After 
four weeks he recovered his speech, and called me 
to his bedside, and said : 

" Leno, I have done with this world. May 
your career be more useful and more prosperous 
than mine ! I have been deceived, bitterly de- 
ceived. They ought not to have nourished expec- 
tations which could not be fulfilled. But now I 
have done." 

And he ordered me to fetch him two bundles of 
papers. They were his secret correspondence, kept 
up to the very day of his illness. With the 
exception of three letters, he ordered me to burn 
it all, and with it to forget whatever unfavorable 
impressions I might have received. 

And so I did ; but I could not help lamenting 
so many years of anxiety and grief and useless 
struggle for a principle, which in the end had to 
be given up. 



THE UNIVERSITY. 59 

Four months elapsed before my father was able 
to leave his bed ; and even then he was" and re- 
mained paralyzed on the left side. During that 
time and after, I divided my time between his 
care, three or four colleges which I continued, and 
many private lessons >vhich I gave to my fellow - 
students as a means of supplying our increased 
wants. For, through the influence of my profess- 
ors, I made many acquaintances ; and, as there 
were always many German and English students, 
I early acquired the habit of speaking their lan- 
guages. And, in that time, I remember having 
once given a better proof of my enthusiastic love 
of liberty than of my prudence in political matters. 

It was my turn publicly to answer various ques- 
tions of examination in the historical lectures of 
the learned Prof Perlkamp. There were some 
eighty students present. I sat at the end of the 
large hall. He reviewed the patriotic behavior of 
Timoleon, who, after having delivered his country 
from tyranny, retired to private life. 

" Do you know, most worthy youth," said the 
professor, in his beautiful classical Latin, ^^ with 
whom to compare Timoleon in modern history ?" 

He scarcely had ended his elegantly turned 
question, when, half rising from my seat, I roared 
at the top of my voice, 

" Cum Washingtoiie Americano /" 

The students were startled at my vehemence. 
The professor was a moment silent, and then said 
emphatically, 



60 THE UNIVERSITY. 

-^'Bene! valde bene! imo optime!'' ("Well! 
very well ! yea, excellent ! ") thus indorsing, as it 
were, my sentiment; though my fellow-students 
had afterwards a better opinion of my smartness 
than of my prudence ; for it would not do, in a 
newly constituted monarchy, to manifest such 
strong approbation of republicanism. 

How little could I think, at that time, that, 
twenty years thereafter, I would seek an asylum 
in the country of Washington ! 

I was now in my eighteenth year ; and the 
next year I had to take my chance in what is 
called the conscription. Should I draw a low num- 
ber, I must enter the army for five years ; our 
means being insufficient to procure a substitute. 
Let me be sincere, and confess that I secretly 
wished to be in the necessity of serving ; so great 
remained my desire for military position, notwith- 
standing my two-years' university life, and my 
father's dependent state of health. I must con- 
fess it ; and, besides the faculties of law and lit- 
erature, I entered that of mathematics, so as to 
enable me to enter with advantage the artillery, 
should my number call me to the ranks. 

And thus I studied hard and many things, and 
drew my lot, at any rate, wit&out much concern. 
I drew so high a number, however, as to place me 
out of reach of conscription to all certainty. I 
remember the frantic despair of a young man who 
drew No. 4, and was, of course, bound to march 
immediately. I went home and laid my No. 434 



THE UNIVERSITY. 61 

before my poor old father, whose tears ran fast 
when he beheld me, his only support and stay. 
And I must confess it, my God! my joy was 
not as great as it ought to have been ; nor did I 
feel as thankful as I ought to have felt for the in- 
estimable privilege of nursing him in his disabled 
condition. 

For more than ten years my mother's fortunes 
had been entirely separate from those of my 
father. With her usual strength and indepen- 
dence of character, she had formed an institute for 
young ladies, and succeeded in establishing a well- 
deserved reputation. My sister was always with 
her, and took part in her labors. It was now 
eleven years since I had seen them. Our corres- 
pondence was languid, though regular; and I 
heard that both were staying some time with a 
family at the Hague, a city about ten miles dis- 
tant from Leiden. I could not resist the wish of 
seeing them, and went ; and I found her as noble 
and as beautiful as ever, and my sister sweet and 
amiable. One day I spent with them, and re- 
turned with my sister, who came to see her father. 
Sweet are these recollections, though not without 
a mixture of grief; for we remembered the time 
w^hen we were all together, and my brother was 
the life of the family. Now he was dead, and 
buried in a far-distant country ; and our parents 
seemed dead to each other, though messages of 
mutual esteem w^ere exchanged. 

My studies were as varied as well could be, 



62 THE UNIVERSITY. 

ranging through literature, jurisprudence, and the 
wide field of mathematical and physical sciences ; 
and my time much employed in giving lessons, 
writing dissertations for those who had either no 
brains or no wish to do it themselves, reviewing 
books and translating others, yea, even indulging 
in the youthful presumption of writing a novel. 
Yet it became necessary to pass my examination 
as a candidate in the faculty of mathematical 
sciences ; and, having done so, I began to think of 
competing for the golden prize by writing a disser- 
tation on one of the prize -questions yearly pro- 
posed by the five faculties to all the academical 
citizens of the country. 

I had just commenced to gather the materials, 
when the political horizon of Europe began to be 
portentous. In France, the July Revolution of 
1830 drove the Bourbons from the throne ; and, in 
Belgium, the long-gathering thunder-cloud burst 
suddenly. United to the Northern Provinces, 
they had most of the disadvantages and few of the 
advantages of this union. Dijffering in language, 
in religion, in national character, fifteen years had 
only embittered the feelings of the two nations ; 
and what my father had often foretold me, as the 
natural consequence of misgovernment, finally did 
happen. The Dutch officials were expelled, the 
troops driven away, the authority of the Prince of 
Orange v/as rejected; although he tried very hard 
to espouse the cause of the rebelling provinces, and 
was, in consequence, obliged to go into voluntary 
exile to England. 



THE UNIVERSITY. 63 

Since the burning of his correspondence, my 
father had materially changed his views with re- 
gard to the Orange dynasty. High-minded and 
chivalrous, he did not stop half-way; but, in a po- 
litical paper which he edited since two years, he 
very warmly supported the cause of Orange against • 
Belgium. All the Northern Provinces were in a 
blaze. Volunteer companies were organized. The 
students of the various universities formed separate 
corps ; and the University of Leiden was not be- 
hind the rest. 

I shall never forget the scene. On the 13th of 
November, two hundred and fifty students, in 
marching costume, with blowing horns and flying 
colors, marched into the ancient Cathedral of St. 
Peter's. There the Venerable Academical Senate 
received them to give them a last farewell. At 
the word of command, they halted, and forming a 
crescent, with shouldered arms, listened to the 
heart-stirrinof words of the Kector Maofnificus, the 
Chevalier V. A. " He praised their loyalty. He 
regretted their departure — the hope of many par- 
ents, the expectation of a country ; but they w^ent 
to avenge the cause of injured royalty, the cause 
of justice, the cause of Him who ruleth the battle. 
They would be remembered. They would live in 
the memory of their fellow-students ; and, not 
least, in the memory of those who took their 
parents' place. The Alma Mater sent them forth 
with grief, but with the blessing of God." 

Many were the eyes glistening with tears at 



64: THE UNIVERSITY. 

that trill V solemn moment. It was solemn, be- 
cause all was real. For months they had been 
drilled into perfect discipline by experienced army 
officers — their leaders. Their destination was a 
post of danger, where an invasion from the Bel- 
gian provinces was daily expected. They entered 
at once upon the duties of an active soldier's life ; 
and when, leaving the church, they halted at the 
City Hall to receive the cartridges, paleness crept 
over the face of many a bystander. But, at the 
word of command, the company was in motion, and 
marched in silence in the direction of the frontier ; 
leaving the pursuits of peaceful Minerva for the 
arduous and dangerous duties at the outposts of G. 

And my heart followed them ; but, in the midst 
of my prize-answer, I had been unwilling to give 
up the hope of being crowned. The horn which 
daily called the forming company to the drill had 
not disturbed me in my assiduous labor ; and so I 
worked until it was too late of thinking to join my 
fellow-students. And, on the first day of Novem- 
ber, I sent my dissertation to the Secretary of the 
University. Not w^ishing, in case of failure, to 
disappoint my father, I had kept it secret from 
him ; but now, my hands being free, the thought 
of entering the army pre-occupied me unceasingly. 

Professor T. urged my father's helpless condi- 
tion. The Chevalier Y. A. smiled at mv idea, 
and advised me not to follow it. Why he smiled, 
I shall have occasion to explain hereafter ; but 
when I consulted my father, he remained immova- 



THE UNIVERSITY. 65 

ble in his opinion, " It was my duty to go'' And 
so I went to the brave Major Van Dam, who was 
levying a free corps of chasseurs ; and I offered my 
services. They were cheerfully accepted ; and on 
the first of December, 1830, I embraced my dear 
father, and left for the frontier city of Tiel, where 
my corps was organizing. 

It was the first time I had ever left him ; and, 
notwithstanding the natural buoyancy of my 
spirits, I must confess that it was a severe trial. 
But I left with him the excellent Professor T., 
whose dwelling adjoined our quarters, and whose 
kind attention I knew. I left him ; and his last 
" Kemember !." sounded long in my ears. 



66 THE ARMY. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE ARMY. 

Do my readers know what is a student's life ? 
It is essentially what Cicero calls the climax of 
happiness — otium bene occupatum, " leisure well 
employed." I was an early riser ; perhaps, in this, 
an exception. At four o'clock I lighted my study 
lamp, and, until seven, went through my deepest 
studies. Then came a solitary breakfast ; and 
from eight o'clock I visited the va^rious lectures I 
had to attend. After noon, I had my private les- 
sons. Towards three, I met my dear old father 
at a frugal dinner : then we had a pleasant chat. 
I took a walk with some fellow-student, paid a 
visit to one of the Viri Clarissimi, or took a cup of 
tea with some congenial friends ; but at seven 
o'clock, like every working student, I was in my 
room, and not at home. This was the even tenor 
of our life, interrupted now and then by a Satur- 
day's excursion or a supper at one of our learned 
professors' ; and on Sunday, by the church-going 
bell, when each one found out his favorite preacher ; 
and you might see, in the ancient churches once 
devoted to Catholic worship, hundreds of young 
men, listening with respectful attention to sermons 
of from one to two hours' duration. 

And I went there ; for a difficulty which I had 



THE ARMY. 67 

with one of my fellow- students led to a serious 
explanation with the chevalier, w^ho, though a man 
of the court, and therefore of the world, was nev- 
ertheless a stanch advocate of Calvinism. And I 
began to see that, with my stoic philosophy, I was 
out of the way ; for in that country, reader ! to 
belong to no church is considered synonymous with 
infidelity : and to be an infidel is considered not 
only a lack of judgment, but even a reproach. 
*' How do you know," said the chevalier, in his 
vehement though polite manner — " how do you 
know that not to be true which you don't know ? 
And what right have you, through your ignorant 
unbelief, to offend others who are better in- 
structed ? " 

And I remember how I quailed before his 
piercing eye, and felt the truth of his reproof. I 
had read the Scriptures, but with the intention of 
seeinof nothinof in them but a venerable record of 
antiquity. And I had learned many things con- 
cerning the First Cause and man's creation and 
destiny ; but of God's providence, and his relation 
to sinning creatures — of the scheme of Christian- 
ity, in one word — I was deeply ignorant. 

I went to one of the theological lights of the 
time, and asked his advice. He recommended to 
me his work, ** The Way of Salvation," in two vol- 
umes ; and I left him discouraged ; for he used 
many technical terms which I could not under- 
stand. My father smiled when I told him, and 
advised me to go to the French Walloon minister. 



68 THE ARMY. 

" There you belong/' he said, ^^ and there you will 
be understood." And so it was. With courtly 
politeness, I was received at once as a catechu- 
men ; and, during a whole year, I never failed to 
go to my weekly lesson. I went through a regu- 
lar course, learned a great number of texts, passed 
a very creditable examination before the consis- 
tory, made my profession on the following Sunday, 
and partook of the Lord's Supper. I was moved 
to tears, and wrote very edifying letters to my 
mother and sister. Yet, my God ! I remained 
estranged from thee, my Beginning and my End. 
Those tears and those burning words w^ere the 
emotions of the carnal mind ; and therefore time 
dried them up and blunted them, until, years and 
years thereafter, thou openedstthe fountain of thy 
goodness and mercy unto thy servant. 

Yet I believed, and, like all converts, sought to 
convert whom best I loved. And I persuaded my 
father to read the Scriptures, and procured him a 
Geneva translation in large type. It was my 
parting gift ; and little did I think that in my ab- 
sence it would work in him what as yet I knew 
only by name — a slow but thorough conversion 
and reconciliation. 

With these social habits and religious views, I 
arrived at Tiel, and took my quarters in the bar- 
racks. It was a startling transition. Instead of 
the quietness of Minerva's city, the bustling tur- 
moil of a frontier place ; instead of the companion- 
ship of congenial, gentlemanly students, the forced 



THE ARMY. 69 

society of rude volunteers from all classes and all 
quarters ; instead of the dignified kindness of our 
learned professors, the rough and dictatorial harsh- 
ness of sergeants and officers ; instead of the de- 
lightful morning studies, the shrill reveille and 
morning roll-call ; instead of the learned lectures 
and interesting experiments, the two hours' morn- 
ing drill ; instead of the simple but cheerful din- 
ner with my old father, the onslaught, in compa- 
nies of five, upon a pot of radatouille. Truly it 
was a great change. And when, on the second 
day, I had signed my name, and was thus enlisted 
as a soldier, to serve as long as the war should 
last, I felt as if I had done a rash thing, and 
wished the war to be of short duration. But my 
vexation increased when I perceived that I was 
not even considered as a volunteer. '' What vol- 
unteer !" exclaimed an officer, who gave me a stern 
command, and whom I politely reminded of our 
being volunteers, " Here are no volunteers. You 
were a volunteer until you signed the articles ; but 
since, you are a soldier, and must obey.^^ The man's 
logic startled me and others at first ; but, after all, 
he was not wrong. 

Most of the corps being old soldiers, the organ- 
ization took little time ; and we were sent to re- 
duce a frontier province into obedience, which had 
begun to sympathize with the Belgians. This was 
a hard and in many respects a dangerous service. 
We were often divided into small bands, and had 
strict orders to keep our carbines loaded, and never 



70 THE ARMY. 

to touch any food which had not previously been 
tasted by our hosts ! Fanatical and ignorant, bit- 
ter and treacherous, they considered all means as 
fair ; and many a chasseur was cut oiff and never 
heard of afterwards. 

One night a small detachment was quartered 
in an extensive brewery. They were rich people, 
and considered as the most influential amono^ the 
disaffected. It was a large and well-built house, 
with huge fire-places in the Flemish style. We 
were entertained with unbounded liberality ; and 
the daughter of our host, a real Brabangonne 
beauty, drew not a little of our attention. Stately 
and proudly she moved through the rough sol- 
diery, her dark eye flashing fire ; nor did she heed 
the words of rude admiration. She sat down, and 
rested her beautiful head on her snow-white hand. 
Wine and beer were liberally given, and the men 
began to sing wild songs. The groups of inhabi- 
tants increased, and their sulky mien seemed 
threatening. There was something mysterious 
about the whole, which made me a keen observer 
of all that was going on. 

I took my seat near the fascinating beauty, and 
heard her words of grief and wounded pride. The 
mother approached, a venerable, gray-haired lady, 
and, with a suppressed sigh, sat down, apparently 
exhausted with fatigue. My name was called; 
and, as I answered the interpellation, the mother, 
who had been looking at me with attention, was 
startled. She laid her. hand on my shoulder, and 



THE ARMY. 71 

asked, with deep emotion, ^^ Who is your father ?" 
And, when I named him, she fell back in her 
chair, and exclaimed, '^ Blessed Virgin ! it is he !" 
And she told me how this villaofe had belono^ed to 
my ancestral patrimony, and how I had often been 
there when yet a little child ; and she took my 
two hands, and, looking steadily in my face, ex- 
claimed with the fondness of prolix old age, ** Is 
it you indeed — you, the son of that good and gen- 
erous man ? " 

At this moment the sonof of the chasseurs rose 
wild in the spacious halls; a shrill whistle pierced 
the outside darkness ; and the daughter turned 
her proud head, and said in a tone of deep emo- 
tion and heartfelt pity, " Mother, if you will save 
him, do it now, or it will be too late'' 

I rushed to the commanding sergeant, and whis- 
pered impetuously into his ear, "Call the men off, 
or we are lost ! " And, seizing the hornblower's 
horn, he ran to the door, already thronged with 
people, and blew the startling alarm-blast. In a 
moment the chasseurs, accustomed to sudden ap- 
peals, were on their feet, and, carbine in hand, fell 
into the ranks. The sergeant rapidly counted his 
men ; and the small detachment marched, with 
blowing horn, to headquarters. If we were sur- 
prised, our lurking enemies were more so. Their 
treacherous attempt was defeated ; for, if it was 
easy to surprise a few men whilst luxuriating in 
drink and good cheer, it was not so when in the 
open field and on their guard. 



72 THE ARMY. 

I need not say that I was deeply moved by the 
sudden occurrence. It was a hairbreadth escape. 
To all the questions of the sergeant I answered 
that I would myself report to the commander. 
His friendship I enjoyed ; and some letters, im- 
prudently sent by my father in a newspaper, hav- 
ing accidently come to his notice, he had been 
struck by the tone of love and confidence between 
father and son, and since treated me with marked 
distinction. I reported to him what I had seen 
and heard, without involving the owners of the 
house, but rather leaving the impression that we 
owed our safety to their warning. 

One morning, in the month of January, I re- 
turned to the guard-house, having accomplished 
my two hours' duty as sentinel, the last two of the 
allotted twelve, when the sergeant remitted me 
two letters. The one was from my father. I tore 
it open. It began with words of joy and blessed 
happiness. His son had carried the golden prize. 
The chevalier and Professor T. had called upon 
him, and communicated the happy intelligence, 
which, like the latter rain upon a parched soil, 
came so unexpectedly, so refreshingly, to gladden 
his lonely old age. 

And it was so. I opened the other letter. It 
was from the secretary of the faculty of mathe- 
matical and physical sciences, instructing me that : 
"To a prize-answer signed with the motto, Quo- 
cunqiie oculos, etc., the faculty had awarded the 
golden medal ; and that, on opening the sealed 



THE ARMY. 73 

ticket, my name having been found, I was sum- 
moned to appear, on the seventh day of February, 
before the faculty, to give further proof of being 
the author, and, this being satisfactory, to receive, 
on the following day, the prize of my diligence." 
And I must say that my first thought was of my 
father and of his joy ; the next w^as that of grati- 
fied ambition. For once, I had succeeded in 
uniting military honor with the achievement of 
literary fame. A soldier in what was deemed the 
cause of loyalty, I should receive the academical 
palm. 

And when, that same day, we had to march 
some twenty miles through heavy rains and muddy 
roads, and at the end of our toil, found only to- 
ward midnight our forlorn, miserable quarters, I 
felt very little fatigue, very little hunger; and, 
when I lay down on the scanty straw, I believe I 
dreamed of my father, of Leiden, of the prize- 
answer, and of the medal. 

Yet there was a drawback in my felicity. We 
were in a hostile country, in active service. How" 
could I expect to obtain leave of absence, even for 
a few days ? And my father, foreseeing the diffi- 
culty, expressed the opinion that I should not leave 
my corps unless the circumstances were entirely 
favorable. And it was not until the third of Feb- 
ruary, when we had just performed a wearisome 
march, that, towards midnight, I went up to the 
quarters of my commander, and exposed my di- 
lemma. 



74: THE ARMY. 

" I give you leave," he said, ^^ but under one 
condition ; and that is, that you will receive the 
medal in your soldier's uniform." 

I never promised anything more gladly. It 
was all I wished. And, on the following day, I 
set out, with knapsack and carbine; and arrived 
on the seventh in Leiden, in time to undergo the 
necessary examination, to rest from my journey, and 
to pass a happy, happy day with my father. It 
was the last day of my twenty-first year : the next 
would be my a.nniversary— the day of my corona- 
tion—the day of Pallas and Minerva ! 



ACADEMIC HONORS. 75 



CHAPTER X. 

ACADEMIC HONORS. 

Youth is generous, and, when not narrowed by 
the trammels of fashionable life, a liberal apprecia- 
tor of merit and honor. When, on the eighth of 
February, I had donned, with more than usual care, 
my graceful chasseur's uniform, and, with my 
father's wishes and blessing, went to the antique 
University Hall, I met a crowd of hundreds of my 
fellow-students ; and many were the cheerful con- 
gratulations whilst I passed into the senate-room. 
There I found half a dozen of noble young men, 
who, in court-dress, were waiting the signal for 
the procession ; and one of Leiden's oldest students, 
w^ho, like myself, in soldier's uniform, was about 
to receive his crown. And the beadles came with 
their stately staves, and with sonorous voice sang 
out, ^^ Hora est audita!'' And the Kector Mag- 
nificus took the lead, followed by the grave pro- 
fessors in their flowing robes ; and next . came we, 
the two soldiers, to whom the honor of precedence 
was given ; whilst the other victors in the noble 
battle of mind and learning closed the train. And, 
whilst the rector ascended the highest cathedra, 
the professors took their seats on each side, the 
doctors behind them, and we on the first bench 
opposite the rector. The large hall was filled to 



76 ACADEMIC HONORS. 

overflowinof with students : and the hio^h o^alleries, 
with ladies and other spectators. And my heart 
beat high, and I wished to have met my father's 
gaze and satisfied smile; but he was in his humble 
room, disabled and an invalid. 

After a silence of reverent expectation, the 
rector besfan his discourse on " The Immoderate 
Strife after Liberty', the Cause of Europe's Calami- 
ties." In glowing language, with an eloquence 
and a Latinity worthy of Cicero, he depicted the 
miseries entailed on Europe by the hazardous at- 
tempts, in Poland, Italy, Spain, France, and Bel- 
gium, to overturn the existing dominions. The 
chevalier (for it was he) was an ardent champion 
of " the divine right of kings;" and he had, at 
that time, the majority in his favor. But the 
noble-hearted Professor T., though devoted to the 
reigning dynasty, was liberal at heart, and, unable 
to control his feelings, arose, and said with his own 
peculiar emphasis, '^ Protesto T The audience re- 
spected the silver-haired Professor's independence ; 
and the chevalier, with a smiling ^' Licitum !^'' 
proceeded, and was covered with a thundering ap- 
plause ; a tribute, I believe, more to his matchless 
eloquence than to the principles which he so ably 
defended. 

Then the academic secretary arose, and read the 
detailed criticisms on each of the prize-answers 
sent ; and, when he sat down, the rector called the 
first, who happened to be my fellow-soldier, and, 
in a graceful address, remitted to him the prize of 



ACADEMIC HONORS. 77 

learning and diligence. Little did he think, when, 
the hand raised in military salute, he stood before 
the rector, that, as Governor-general of Nether- 
lands' India, he would, for five years, have abso- 
lute dominion over fourteen millions of subjects, 
and return to his country loaded with wealth and 
honors ! 

When my own turn came I was paralyzed by 
contending feelings. The rector had to repeat 
three times his whispered invitation, ''Accede ad 
hanc cathedram ;" and, when I stood before him, 
the chevalier's eye was glistening with emotion 
(for he loved me truly and verily) ; and with a 
voice, which, from pathetic tenderness, rose grad- 
ually to the highest pitch of power, he said : 

'' I just now praised filial piety, which, of all 
virtues, I think the most amiable. How must I 
feel affected when beholding thee, most beloved 
Leno ! whom I wish to commend to all thy fellow- 
students as the true and express image of true 
filial piety ? Thou art the only consolation, the 
only support, of an infirm father, old in age, and 
afflicted by adversity. The hours which others 
use to pass in pleasure, or relaxation of the mind, 
thou spendest in nursing and fostering and sustain- 
ing thy father. Keceive, then, this prize of honor, 
parent-nursing son ! Such as I know thee 
toward thy father, such wilt thou be toward thy 
country. Of this hope, the prize which thou hast 
carried, and the military dress w^herein thou ap- 
pearest, seem to be a sure and double pledge." 



78 ACADEMIC HONORS. 

Oh, the double crown which on that day I re- 
ceived ! For, truly, the wreath which so great 
and good a man twined around my youthful head 
in words of eloquent approval was greater, far 
greater, crown to me than the golden prize which 
he put in my trembling hand. 

And, staggering with emotion, I descended the 
steps, whilst a threefold applause burst from my 
fellow-students ; a proof that they were generous 
sons, and that many of them would have done as 
well, or better, if placed in the same circum- 
stances. 

And for these circumstances I bless thee, my 
God I the Fountain of my existence. For, if I 
had lived in wealth or moderate riches, the little 
good which was in me could not have been brought 
out ; and the evil which was in me, thou knowest 
it, might have overgrown the good. 

To thy honor, then, have I recorded these words 
of commendation ; for to thee I owe the good, and 
to thee the occasion of growing in it ; and, by thy 
will and dispensation, this man became the mes- 
senger of thy approval. 

And having given my father the remainder of 
the day, and seen that all was right concerning 
his comforts, and recommended him to the care of 
the honest people where we had our rooms, I 
packed, on the following morning, my knapsack, 
and, arrayed in marching costume, stood before 
my father, whose tears ran fast with joy and sor- 
row, and truly received his blessing, and began my 



ACADEMIC HONORS. 79 

long and wearisome march to the frontier. For I 
had spent much money in hastening to see him, 
but now I had to save ; and, with reluctant steps, 
I marched several days, till, on the thirteenth of 
February, I discovered the walls of Bois-le-Duc, 
where my corps was quartered. 

It was nearly night, a frosty winter night, when 
I passed Fort Isabel. Its high walls and threat- 
ening cannon brought strange remembrances to 
my mind. For there my great-grandfather had 
commanded in the war with Louis XV ; wherein, 
at his own expense, he brought four companies in 
the field, and led them in the battle of Fontenoy, 
and cheered them, in the murderous charge, under 
grapeshot and grenades, with, ^^ Never mind the 
peas, my men ! never mind ! " And the States, to 
reward his services, intrusted to him Fort Isabel, 
the key of Bois-le-Duc, itself the key to the 
Northern Provinces. Leaning on. my carbine, I 
gazed at the massive walls, and thought how 
strangely our fortunes had fallen ; and I thought 
of my poor disabled father, in his scantily fur- 
nished room at Leiden, and of my mother, and of 
my sister, and of my brother, buried on the other 
side of the Atlantic, until the drum and fife and 
the long-drawn note of the chasseurs' horns 
awakened me from my reverie. It was the tat- 
too ; and I had to hasten my step to reach the 
gate in time. 

The following morning, we marched from Bois- 
le-Duc to the frontier of Braband. There was, at 



80 ACADEMIC HONORS. 

that time, an armistice concluded between the two 
belligerent parties. The Belgians had received a 
king. They organized their country, it must be 
said, with amazing rapidity. Yet it took some 
time before the hlouse, that emblem of the July 
Revolution, was banished from their ranks. Their 
unruly bands used to make continual invasions in 
our territory. We were kept in perpetual alarm ; 
and once a hundred volunteers were asked, I be- 
lieve, to help in teaching them a lesson. They 
were soon mustered, and marched to the frontier 
line, and there encamped. Mutual transgressions 
over the line were of daily occurrence. There w^as 
an inn situate on the line, which ran through the 
bar-room ; a black stripe on the floor marking the 
separation between the two hostile territories. 
And there the officers and soldiers used to repair, 
and, each keeping his ground, to empty many a 
glass to each other's success. One morning, it was 
knowm that a large body of marauders would pass 
the line. A detachment was sent in ambuscade ; 
whilst the commanding officer went to the inn, 
where he was sure to find the Belgian chief With 
friendly discourse, he kept his attention engaged 
until a few gunshots startled him. 

*^ What is that ?" cried he. 

*^ Nothing, monsieur," said the officer, " but a 
few shots in honor of your soldiers, who have be- 
come our guests." 

And thus we passed the spring, until we were 
directed to Til burg ; where soon the headquarters 



ACADEMIC HONOKS. 81 

were established, and the bulk of the army began 
to be concentrated. The Prince of Oranofe had re- 
turned from England, and assumed the supreme 
command. From all quarters troops began to ar- 
rive ; and we heard that another division was 
organizing under the Duke of Saxe- Weimar, and 
a third under General Van Geen. An invasion of 
Belgium was at hand ; and with cheerful expecta- 
tion we waited for the order, " Forward !" 

During all that time I read diligently the 
classics, which, in miniature form, I carried in my 
knapsack. I remember having read through 
Virgil and Horace, and still reverence the little 
books for the pleasure they afforded me during 
many an hour of solitary watch. And with my 
father I kept a regular correspondence. His let- 
ters were full of love and confidence. There was 
a work going on in him which then I could not 
understand. " The Bible," he said, " I gave him, 
was a treasure ; it had become his daily morning 
bread." And soon he asked for the Holv Com- 
munion ; and, leaning on the arm of a faithful ser- 
vant, he came to the church publicly to confess 
the divinity of Him whom so long he had only 
reverenced as a human teacher. Thus didst thou, 
God ! visit his patient loneliness.^ and sweeten 
the last days of his troubled life.. 



82 THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 



CHAPTEE XI. 

THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 

War has two sides — the preparation and the 
execution. If it were not for the bloody scenes 
and unspeakable miseries of the last, the first 
might be said to have its attractive beauties. 
Thousands of men in the freshness of youth, vari- 
ously equipped, and skillfully banded together in 
companies and battalions, and regiments and brig- 
ades and divisions, moving and contracting and 
extending, like an immense body animated by one 
spirit and obeying one leader, with the rapidity 
and precision wherewith we are accustomed to 
move the mechanism of our body at the command 
of our mind — it is indeed a masterpiece of moral 
and physical power ; it is an exhibition of harmony 
which cannot but leave an impression of grandeur, 
until the horrors of a battle-field withdraw the 
curtain, and show the demon of war in its unutter- 
able hideousness. 

The Prince of Oranofe had arrived at the head- 
quarters of Tilburg. He ordered a review of the 
first and second divisions — together about twenty- 
four thousand men strong. At daybreak, we 
marched to the place of rendezvous; and, about 
noon, we had formed our lines. The Prince passed 
in sweeping gallop, followed by a numerous staff ; 



THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 83 

and then, taking his stand about the middle of the 
immense line, he gave words of command. The 
generals took up his order in long-drawn tones, and 
the colonels repeated it with stern distinctness ; 
until, at the last emphatic syllable, one tremen- 
dous clash brought twenty thousand muskets to 
the shoulder. Another command was given, and 
in a few moments the immense lines were ranofed 
in serried columns. Soon we heard another com- 
mand still ringing over the extensive plain ; and a 
rattling sound, like distant thunder, announced the 
approaching cavalry. It swept by in huge masses 
— two thousand cuirassiers with their glittering 
armor like a beam of light in the brilliant sunshine, 
and the hussars with their waving plumes and 
picturesque dolmans, and the lancers with their 
gay and variegated streamers. At the third com- 
mand of *^^a^^ /" repeated at intervals, the rush- 
ing mass stood motionless ; and, for a few moments, 
there was a breathless silence. But soon com- 
mand followed command, and with dashing speed 
the flying-artillery broke through between the cav- 
alry and ourselves. Clouds of dust followed their 
passage ; and it was scarcely allayed when we per- 
ceived that the defile had commenced. And when 
our turn had come, and we had vented our patriot- 
ism in a hearty '^Hurrah /" we marched back to 
our quarters, where we arrived at night, with the 
prospect of one day's rest, and then '^ Forward /" 

The Belgian Government relied for its security 
upon two armies — that of the Scheldt, in the west, 



84 THE BATTLE OF LOU VAIN. 

under the orders of General Tiecken, and that of 
the Mouse, in the east, under General Daine. The 
Prince of Orange marched straight between the 
two. We took Turnhout, the scene of the heroism 
of Prince Mauritius of Orange ; and my fellow- 
students of L. fought a hard battle at Beringen, 
where two of the noble company fell, and several 
were wounded. When, at Gheel, the Prince had 
established his head-quarters, it needed all the 
confidence which he inspired ; for we were inclosed 
between two powerful armies. But it w^as in vain 
that General Daine tried to effect a junction with 
the army of the Scheldt. Battle after battle was 
fought, city after city taken ; and we entered 
Diest. 

I shall never forget that morning's march. It 
was harvest-time, and the surrounding country 
seemed to exult in the endless variety of its sur- 
passing beauty. All along the roadside, the 
peaceful dwellings of the humble peasants were 
empty and deserted ; and in the distance we could 
see them fleeing with what they could carry off. 
It was, to me at least, a painful sight. Hardened 
indeed must be the man who can see a single hu- 
man being suffering and not sympathize : what, 
then, if he is part of a force which spreads terror 
and ''desolation among the defenceless ? Wagon 
after wagon passed, filled with mutilated soldiers ; 
for it was a short but continuous struggle. For 
them I felt ; but I knew that my turn might 
come. But the sight of mothers carrying their 



THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 85 

babes, and of children fleeing with their scanty 
possessions, humbled me — pained and mortified 
me. 

We encamped out of Diest ; for our corps was 
in the vanguard, and it was my turn to be on 
watch. Far away and scattered were the out- 
posts; and, when at night I stood sentinel, I could 
clearly see the enemy's videttes. I stood behind 
a cornfield, and kept Avide awake ; for it was ru- 
mored that Gen. Daine intended that niofht to 
make a last attempt to break through, and join 
the western army ; and, in cases of sudden attack, 
the outposts are first to be silenced. 

I saw a shadowy form moving in the waving 
stalks, and the faint glimmering of a bayonet ; 
and, levelling my carbine, I cried, "TFe7'c?a/" and, 
receiving no answer, I fired. Reloading immedi- 
ately, I kept ready ; when a sudden dash was 
made near the same place. I fired a second time ; 
heard an exclamation ; and was glad when a cor- 
poral and two men came at a running pace to my 
relief. The post was doubled. We heard many 
distant gunshots, but remained unmolested until 
daybreak ; when, searching the spot, we found the 
traces of a hiding place and of blood. 

The same day. Gen. Daine began to retreat. 
The Duke of Saxe- Weimar intercepting him, his 
fliofht soon became disastrous : and we had done 
with the army of the Meuse. 

And now the Prince of Oranofe resolved to 
march upon Lou vain. Long before daybreak we 



86 THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 

were called to the ranks. There was no noise of 
drum or horn. In deepest silence our vanguard 
was dispatched to clear the way. For some time 
we followed the chaussee; then we turned to the 
left — a narrow path up hill. We had scarcely en- 
tered it when a gun was fired behind. It was a 
sentinel, who gave the alarm too late ; being sur- 
prised by our cautious march. Less awake than 
I had been on a similar occasion, he paid his drow- 
siness with death ; for he was shot whilst retreat- 
ing. And when, some days thereafter, we passed 
the same road, we found him on the spot — a tall 
and handsome youth ; and the chasseur who shot 
him quietly took oflp his shoes, and put them on in 
exchange for his own, which had seen long and 
hard service. 

We continued our ascent ; and, having reached 
the summit of the hill, extended en tirailleurs 
along a hedge. We were received with a well- 
sustained fire, obliged to rejoin our column, and 
pushed on. Extending again, we had the whole 
line of tirailleurs before us. Some of our men 
fell ; and the cry of "Cavalry!'^ threw a moment- 
ary panic among them. Retreating upon the chief 
column now advancing, we rallied, forming a sep- 
arate body ; and became entangled in a hollow 
way, when a galling fire carried off half a dozen 
of our best men. A swarm of hostile chasseurs 
covered the hill above us, and our position became 
critical. We fortunately got out of the hollow 
road, and found refuge behind a low mud wall. 



THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 87 

We were about fifteen left ; and I observed that 
our lieutenant took a lengthy draught from his 
field-bottle. The enemy descended the hill, and 
we fired with indefatigable rapidity. We had the 
advantage of a good mark and a shelter. A heavy 
mist came to our help. We heard .on the other 
side of the hill the cannons roaring. Suddenly 
the enemy, who had until now slowly descended, 
turned, and retreated in haste. Following the 
direction of the cannon, we soon emerged from our 
isolated position, and rejoined our corps, who had 
given us up for lost. 

The battle had now fairly begun. Our grape- 
shot did terrible execution on two regiments occu- 
pying the center of the enemy's position. We 
were ordered to attack their left flank. They dis- 
puted the ground inch by inch. During more 
than two hours we advanced steadily, giving and 
receiving fire. This kind of fight often became 
personal. I remembered having followed the 
same chasseur, a huge and bearded fellow, for per- 
haps a quarter of an hour, exchanging more than 
six shots ; until my bullet brought death to him, 
relief to me. And I remember the cool reflec- 
tions of my companion — for tirailleurs go always 
two by two : " You will not hit him ! Too high ! 
Now take your chance ! " 

A cry was raised, ^^ The Prince is killed ! " It 
was a false alarm. He had a horse shot under 
him ; but, immediately mounting another, we soon 
saw him in full gallop, followed by his staff. I 



88 THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 

shall never forget the cheerful smile with which, 
waving his hand, he cried to us, " Well done, 
chasseurs ! w^e shall soon be in Lou vain ! " On 
he rode, under a hail of cannon-balls plowing the 
earth, and raising dust enough to hide his white 
plume from our sight. But on he rode until he 
reached the Peltenberg, and thence, with his spy- 
glass, surveyed the enemy's position. 

There lay the ancient city of Louvain before us. 
But, on the plain between, the enemy had concen- 
trated all his forces ; and a formidable array of ar- 
tillery extended in front of the city. Our troops 
halted on the declivity of the hill. I suppose the 
Prince foresaw great loss of life, should he con- 
tinue the attack ; and he waited for the co-opera- 
tion of the Duke of Saxe- Weimar, who, by a cir- 
cuitous route, was to turn the city. But, as it 
was, it was a severe trial ; for the enemy's artil- 
lery thundered unceasingly. There I saw the reg- 
iments of the Frisian militia standing immovable, 
with shouldered musket, under the most galhng 
fire ; there I saw the same cannon-ball taking off 
one man's feet, another's legs, and a third's head, 
according as they stood on the declivity. The 
same shot carried off the leg of the brave Col. 
Gaillere, and that of his son, both of the cuirass- 
iers. But the whole army remained immovable, 
except the artillery ; and the Prince stood with 
his staff, motionless, as if bidding defiance to their 
endeavors. 

At last a flag of truce was seen advancing ; and 



THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 89 

the British charge d' affaires, Sir Robert Adair, 
requested the Prince to grant an armistice ; add- 
ing the information that a French army of fifty- 
thousand men had come to the rescue of Belofium. 
^^ I shall take Louvain," answered the Prince, 
" and see about the French." Another half-hour 
of firing ensued, when the distant thundering of 
heavy cannon announced Saxe-Weimar's approach. 
There was now a stir in the whole army, and we 
expected the order of ^^ Forward !" when a second 
flag of truce appeared, and an officer was led 
blindfolded before the Prince. An armistice was 
conceded, under the condition that, the following 
day, our troops should enter Louvain with flying 
colors. 

It was four o'clock. Fatigued, we took our po- 
sitions for our bivouac. That night I slept well 
and soundly; but I know I never thought of Thee, 
my God, nor of Thy mercy in preserving me, nor 
of the work in which I had been engaged. 

In the morning, when the roll was called, twen- 
ty-six were missing of the two hundred and fifty ; 
and there was a gloom over all, for many of these 
men were brave and good. The rest of the day 
was spent in repose, and in visiting the venerable 
city of Louvain. I did not go. I felt as if I could 
not enjoy the hard-bought, and, after all, useless 
triumph over a people who had been misguided, 
and galled into insurrection by misgovernment. I 
began to doubt the motives of this invasion ; for, 
at twelve miles' distance from the capital, we were 



90 THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 

arrested just in point of time by a French army 
superior in numbers. The Prince of Orange, con- 
tented, it would seem, with having recovered his lost 
popularity, agreed to leave, the following day, with 
a victorious army, the fruit of a campaign mas- 
terly combined and strenuously achieved. " We 
leave to-morrow ! " we said in astonishment : '^ we 
return the same road we came ! Why not fight 
these Frenchmen ? Why retire as if we were not 
in the territory of the lawful king ? " 

And, when the ranks were formed, the com- 
mander read an order of the day, wherein the 
Prince expressed his satisfaction, and gave rea- 
sons, plausible but not convincing, for our retreat. 
It was, I remember it well, received Avith sullen 
silence ; and when the command was given, " For- 
ward, march ! " one of our spokesmen exclaimed, 
'^ Say, rather, ^ Backward ^ march ! ' " 

We were quartered along the frontier, when I 
heard that my mother and sister were at the 
Hague; and my heart longed to see them. I ob- 
tained furlough for a week, and hastened to the 
Hague. I arrived the day before their departure ; 
and thence I hastened to Leiden to my father. I 
found him well, though visibly affected by my long 
absence. Thin and shadowy, his corporeal frame 
seemed to be kept alive only by his vigorous, clear, 
and kindly spirit ; for all the bitterness and rash- 
ness which sometimes used to overtake him was 
gone, and his heart seemed thoroughly filled with 
the consoling doctrine of his Redeemer. It was 



THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 91 

evident that, durinof the absence of the son of his 
hope, he had sought and found the abundant riches 
of the Son of God. Thus, from evil, Thou know- 
est how to draw the highest good : for the rough 
and rude soldier's life was to me an evil ; but to 
him the solitude was a blessinof, wherein he souo^ht 
and found the pearl of infinite price. 

And though Thou withdrewesfc from me, or, 
rather, I from Thee, and many years elapsed, 
wherein in blindness I knew Thee not, and in wick- 
edness I often denied Thee, yet Thou hadst marked 
the appointed time wherein the son should come 
to Thee, as the father did before. Truly Thou art 
merciful, and our life is hidden — hidden in Thee, 
the Fountain of all life ! 

The truce signed by the Prince of Orange was 
ratified by the king ; and a voice went up through 
the length and breadth of the country, ^^ Let the 
thousand sons of our universities, the flower of our 
nation, the hope of so many parents, return from 
the army. If necessary, they will be ready for ac- 
tion ; but, until then, let them return to the noble 
strife of mind and talent." 

The king decreed that all the students in the 
army should have an indefinite furlough. Great 
were the preparations made for the reception of 
these youthful bands ; and I must confess, that 
when, myself in uniform, I went to meet my fel- 
low-students, the sight of the two hundred and 
fifty chasseurs of Leiden, dusty and soiled and 
fatigued with the long march, and having passed a 



92 THE BATTLE OF LOUVAIN. 

year in the privations and hardships of warfare, 
'end recently gone through a severe ordeal of fire — 
I must confess that it moved me. 

They marched straight to the ancient St. Peter's 
Cathedral ; and, when arrived in the middle of the 
spacious nave, they halted, and with a thunder- 
clap the muskets were brought down. There 
stood again the venerable Rector Magnificus with 
the Illustrious Senate ; and a touching address 
welcomed them home to the penates Palladis. It 
recalled to my mind the imposing scene of their 
departure. Thus this youthful band began and 
ended their career in the house of God. But then 
the scene was saddening, though sublime : now it 
was gladsome and cheering. A band of youthful 
maidens, arrayed in white, advanced ; and one of 
them, in the name of all, presented to each soldier 
a medal, bearing the simple inscription, " Grateful 
testimonial of the maidens of Leiden to the faith- 
ful defenders of their country's rights." Pleasing 
is the remembrance ; and, though in my wander- 
ings I have lost many tokens of affection or honor, 
the bronze medal, handed by the Virgins of Mi- 
nerva's City, is still in my possession. 

The remainder of the day was devoted to ban- 
queting and joyful intercourse ; whilst in the even- 
ing the illuminated streets and dwellings testified 
to the joy of all the inhabitants. But, w^hen the 
morning came, the uniform and muskets were care- 
fully laid aside, and Minerva's sons resumed the 
quiet tenor of a life devoted to study and learning. 



TWO SISTEPwS. 93 



CHAPTEE XII. 

TWO SISTERS. 

1 TOOK up my studies with renewed zeal — all 
the lectures and lessons for the doctoral examina- 
tion in mathematical sciences and natural philoso- 
phy ; which being passed successfully, the candi- 
date becomes a doctorandus, at any time entitled 
to gain the doctor's degree by the public defence 
of an approved dissertation, written in Latin, on 
an appropriate subject. These studies and lect- 
ures were many, and deeply interesting; and, 
when my father was taken with a repeated attack 
(as he had often been), I joined to them the duties 
of editing his paper. But, after two or three 
months, I found it difficult to combine studying 
and editing ; and I requested him to resume the 
journal. I would not have done so years before ; 
and, even now, bitterly do I regret it. For he 
was old and feeble, and unfit for the task ; but I 
had become more selfish and less sacrificing. I 
remember it now with sorrow; and many things I 
do remember, which were the consequence of in- 
creased knowledge, self-importance and independ- 
ence. 

About that time the chevalier returned from 
the headquarters of the army, where he had been 
actively engaged as private secretary to the Prince 



94 TWO SISTERS. 

of the Netherlands. I went to see him, and 
plainly told him my disappointment at the result 
of our campaign. 

*^ My dear friend," said he, with his usual smile, 
'^ I knew it before. The campaign, the French 
intervention, the subsequent agreement, the re- 
treat — I knew it before you heard the command 
of * Forward !' and nothing more was intended 
than what was obtained." 

I remained silent. The thousands of lives lost ; 
lives of brave militia-men, who had left their 
homes and families ; lives of promising sons, who 
had loyally left their peaceful avocations ; and the 
heaps of slain, as I passed them on the last day of 
battle ; and the groans of mothers and widows — 
it all took shape and form in my youthful mind, 
naturally generous and compassionate. All that 
to re-establish the lost popularity of the king's 
heir ! And I understood the chevalier's smile, 
when I spoke of leaving for the army, and his ac- 
tual silence while turning the leaves of a " Plu- 
tarch " he was perusing ; and my dream of mili- 
tary honor and glory was gone — gone forever ! 

" Amice," said the chevalier, '' you are of mili- 
tary family ; and, as I perceive, you have been 
honored by your commander. If you wish it, I 
have it in my power to procure you an officer's 
rank in the staff." 

" Chevalier," said I, ^^ I thank you. I have 
done my duty, and wish to remain with my aged 
father. I thank you." 



^ TWO SISTERS. 95 

And, when I had scarcely spoken these words, 
the Count George de C. was ushered in, himself 
once a soldier in the Leiden company, and now 
promoted to the stepping-stone to further honor. 
I took my hat, and went home to my dark back- 
room, where, pondering over my mathematics, I 
tried to forget my destroyed illusions. And I re- 
member that my heart was soured, and that, for 
the first time, the reality of life commenced to 
dawn. 

Then I began to be restless and dissatisfied, and 
sometimes harsh and unkind ; and, when my father 
was taken so ill as to make me fear his end was 
approaching, my sister came to nurse him, and re- 
mained several days. Once I answered her in a 
thoughtless manner, and she broke out in tears ; 
and, dissatisfied with myself, I did not knoAV what 
to amend, nor how. For I did not know Thee, 
God ! the fountain of true love and charity ; and 
all my learning and studies did not teach me any- 
thing, until it pleased Thee to draw me by the 
affection of sweet and innocent children. Thus, 
reviewing my life, it now appears to me ; though 
at that time it seemed mere accident and chance. 

Autumn came, and the leaves began to fall; and 
the chilly cold increased my mental depression. 
Seated before a table covered with mathematical 
papers, I was looking with listless apathy through 
the open window. There was nothing to cheer 
my eye — a brick-paved courtyard, surrounded by 
a high wall, and three or four tall poplars at the 
end, with some gooseberry-bushes between ; and 



96 TWO SISTERS. 

there came a little girl, slender, and with fair and 
waving locks. She moved up and down, with 
paper and pencil in her tiny hand, and seemed to 
make an attempt at sketching ; and, perceiving 
that I observed her, she drew nearer and nearer, 
as children are apt to do. I loved her sweet and 
gentle manner, and took her paper, and drew on it ; 
and she copied, leaning against the window-sill. I 
asked her who she was. She said : 

" My name is Eleonore ; and I have a sister 
named Adelaide, two years younger ; and we live 
with our mother in this house." 

I asked her to come into my study; and, giving 
her a seat and model and sheet of paper, requested 
her to try, and directed her small and flexible 
fingers, and observed her intelligent, beautiful pro- 
file. She had evidently a genial disposition ; and 
I promised to give her daily a lesson. When, the 
following day, she was gravely established at my 
writing-table, her younger sister made her appear- 
ance on some errand from her mother. If I had 
been struck by the transparent beauty of Eleonore, 
the fresh and modest face of Adelaide, with her 
large blue eyes incased in dark and silky lashes, 
seemed like the personification of childhood's holy 
innocence. In Eleonore, I could not but admire 
the transparency of refined intellect : in Adelaide, 
there was something more and deeper still. It 
was the transparency of an honest, truthful heart, 
with its hidden treasure of unconscious goodness 
and elastic cheerfulness. 

Such were these children. I made the acquaint- 



TWO SISTERS. 97 

ance of their mother. Married at an early age, 
Mrs. de Ridder was left with two infant dauofhters, 
when her husband, a captain in the French Army, 
was ordered to Kussia. He was reported among 
the slain ; and his young and beautiful widow 
mourned his loss during three years : for he was a 
brave and handsome soldier, and a devoted hus- 
band. Nothing could induce her to give her hand 
away ; and she continued to wear the external ap- 
parel of mourning, even as she mourned for him in 
the loneliness of her desolate heart. 

One evening, toward dusk, she walked home, 
holding by each hand a little daughter. She 
slowly ascended the double flight of steps leading 
to the front door ; when, on the other side, an un- 
known person, with heavy beard, and wrapped in 
furs and cloak, ascended; and both stood before 
the entrance. The mother, though herself startled 
at the sudden apparition, spoke quieting words to 
one of the frightened children. Then the unknown 
one, recognizing the well-beloved voice, and unable 
to contain his rapture, exclaimed, ^^ Bertha !" and 
clasped his wife in his arms, and carried her faint- 
inof into the house. 

It was himself indeed ! Made a prisoner by the 
Cossacks, he had been transported to the wilds of 
Siberia ; and, after many fruitless attempts, con- 
trived to make his escape. After his return, and 
his re-union with his family, he served faithfully 
in the army of King William; and was just pro- 
moted to the rank of commander of a battalion, 
when he was taken ill at Tournay ; and his iron 



98 TWO SISTERS. 

frame, which had never known illness, sank rap- 
idly, leaving his widow w4th six children. Three 
of them were married ; an only son was in military 
service ; and, at the outbreak of the Belgian Revo- 
lution, she was forced to flee with her two little 
daughters, one of ten and one of eight years, and 
took up her abode in Leiden. 

I see her yet, in her dignified widowhood, gently 
moving, and directing her two little girls ; the only 
treasures left of a life passed in the blessedness of 
a happy marriage. And I see yet her pleasant 
smile and glistening eye, when, reverently stand- 
ing before her, I spoke words of praise and admi- 
ration, and asked leave to be the instructor of little 
Eleonore ; and she consented, and had confidence 
in me ; for I was serious and well-meaning. 

I had given private lessons for years, but never 
liked it. The business of teaching seemed uncon- 
genial with my natural disposition; and even the 
Professor's cathedra had not the slightest attraction 
for me. But when my intelligent Eleonore began 
to progress in drawing and German and history, and 
there was a true response of mind to mind, I became 
to her what my father had been to me. I gave her 
what I had and knew; and she looked up to me 
with the same unbounded confidence wherewith I 
used to look up to him. In my walks, she was my 
sweet companion ; and her questions and answers 
awakened in me a sense of the teacher's ofiice in its 
^'abstract" beauty. The educational works of 
Campe and Saltzman and De Genlis, I studied 
now with the ardor of real enthusiasm. 



TWO SISTERS. 99 

Thus a fresh impulse was given to my depressed 
spirit ; and, when spring approached, I tore up the 
brick pavement of the courtyard, and laid out a 
cheerful garden with shrubs and flowers, and a 
bower on the sunny side, where, resting in an easy 
arm-chair, my dear old father sometimes enjoyed 
the semblance of nature. And the sweet Adelaide, 
his favorite of the two, used to stand near him ; 
and her innocent, merry talk found an ever-ready 
response in his cheerful, childlike fondness. 

Thus I passed 1832, studying, and, besides, per- 
forming literary labor. For,. in that year, I trans- 
lated the *^ Political Works" of Politz, and the 
'^ Letters from Paris " of Raumer ; and, when the 
academical year was at an end, I passed my doc- 
toral examination; and, henceforth free from lect- 
ures and colleges, I began to prepare my inaugural 
dissertation. 

But, in the spring of the following year, we 
moved from the city to one of the suburbs ; where, 
with Mrs. de Kidder and her two little daughters, 
we leased a most delightful garden. And my 
father gave up his journal, and indulged the oftener 
his fondness for instructing Adelaide ; whilst I, in 
the midst of physical experiments, and heaps of 
books and papers, took more and more interest in 
the gradual development of Eleonore. A happier 
little household there could not be. It was to be 
the last year of my father's life ; and it seemed 
that God had sent the fragrant holiness of child- 
hood to smooth his pillow, and to soften his feel- 
ings more and more. 



100 CONFLICT AND SEPARATION. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

CONFLICT AND SEPARATION. 

The remembrance of happy days is sweet and 
painful; for the sweetness remains Uke a fragrance. 
But then they come to an end; and the end leaves 
a void, which even the sweetness of memory can 
not fill. 

Day by day, I progressed in my dissertation ; 
day by day, I could rejoice in the happy develop- 
ment of my eldest pupil, Eleonore. Besides the 
educational works which I have mentioned, I be- 
gan to study Pestalozzi ; and soon my youthful 
mind was in a blaze for the noble science of edu- 
cation. It was, at that time at least, sadly defec- 
tive in the country which I inhabited. What I 
have said of the university did not apply to the 
primary and intermediate instruction. To train 
the mind as an immortal essence in its intellectual 
and moral capacity ; to observe the intimate bonds 
of union between body and soul, and to develop 
the physical forces so as to steady the invisible 
structure ; and last, but not least, to educate with 
a view to eternity, and to make knowledge and 
science subservient to our relations with God — all 
these things were little thought of All these 
things began to occupy me with unceasing energy; 
and little did Eleonore and Adelaide know that 



CONFLICT AND SEPARATION. 101 

they exerted such a decided influence on my des- 
tinies. 

Sweet and ha23py children ! They enjoyed the 
sunny summer ; and between their little studies, 
and the care for my aged father, and the dutiful 
observance of their excellent mother, and the 
many rambles we made together in the adjacent 
country, their affections twined around me with 
all the energy of love and innocence. 

When the summer was nearly past, the cheva- 
lier wished to see me. With more than usual se- 
riousness, he told me that the Baron de Gevers 
had applied to him for advice how to provide for 
the further education of his two sons, whom, thus 
far, he had carefully trained himself Living in 
the royal residence, constantly engaged as an in- 
spector of the king's domains, he was unable to do 
more. He sought a person in whom he could 
place entire confidence, and to whom he could in- 
trust what himself, with more than usual care, had 
commenced. 

" I thought of you," continued the chevalier ; 
and, perceiving the frown wherewith his intima- 
tion was received, he hastened to add, '' But I 
know your objections. I know your family pride 
and your ambition ; but, what is better far, I know 
your love for your aged parent, and how hard it 
would be for you to leave him. But the family 
G. is powerful and influential ; and the baron 
wishes to see, in him who will undertake so re- 
sponsible a charge, nothing less than the friend of 



102 CONFLICT AND SEPARATION. 

his house. I do not mention the pecuniary ad- 
vantages ; they are great, but have no weight 
with you, though they ought to have. But con- 
sider the social advantages, the relations you can 
form ; and let it be a stepping-stone to higher 
position." 

I could not assent to his opinion. My family 
had never owed anything to favor or royal protec- 
tion. But what the chevalier said of the baron's 
care and anxiety, and of his amiable character, in- 
terested me ; and I consented to an interview. 

At a few miles' distance from Leiden lies the 
ancient manor of Endegeest. There I was to 
meet the baron. It was a bright day in fall, v/hen 
I gave, with heavy heart, a kiss to my dear little 
girls, and, after a pleasant walk, entered the som- 
bre avenue. A carriage met me near the entrance. 
The baroness, a noble, handsome lady, saw at a 
glance who it was ; and, smiling courteously, left 
an indelible impression upon my youthful imagina- 
tion. I was ushered into the library ; and soon the 
baron entered, and, sitting down, opened the sub- 
ject with all the earnestness of a devoted father, 
and all the exquisite politeness of an accomplished 
courtier. 

Educated from his twelfth year among the pages 
of the great Napoleon, he had followed the desti- 
nies of the emperor, even through the terrible 
campaign of Russia, until the treaty of Fontain- 
bleau ; when, yet very young, his career seemed 
broken. He married, againsfc the wishes of his 



CONFLICT AND SEPARATION. 103 

ambitious father, the Baroness de Grovestins, of 
ancient Frisian nobihty, but destitute of fortune. 
He was cautious and prudent, but generous and 
kind-hearted ; charitable and reserved in his judg- 
ments ; extremely simple in his tastes ; and, I be- 
lieve, the most perfect model of a husband and 
father I ever have encountered. 

He repeated, in substance, what the chevalier 
had said, but with such amiable considerateness, 
with such earnest pleading for the welfare of his 
sons, that I confess that my objections seemed to 
crumble before his quiet eloquence ; and when the 
baroness came in, and added sparingly but timely 
words of esteem and appreciation, I arose, and ex- 
pressed my willingness to receive further written 
communication. Long thereafter, the baroness jest- 
ingly complained that, in this interview, I had 
neglected her, and exclusively given my attention 
to her husband. So true it is, that even woman 
may be deceived in the impression which she 
makes ; for, if I turned apparently my chief at- 
tention to the baron, it was because I instinctively 
felfc the pressure of her influence upon my unso- 
phisticated heart. 

And, when I walked down the avenue, I was 
sad. A feeling of heaviness oppressed me. The 
Moslem says, ^'What is to be, is." He calls 
it fate, or destiny ; the Christian, providence. 
There is an irresistible power without ourselves. 
We think we are free in acting ; we are less so 
than we imaofine. Invisible asfencies must have a 



104 CONFLICT AND SEPAKATION. 

hand in shaping the course of our life ; for often 
we do what we decidedly would not, and often we 
are restrained from doing what we would. 

Eleonore and Adelaide stood waiting at the gar- 
den-gate, and, as soon as they saw me, they ran 
up to me, and clung to me, and their natural 
affection seemed to breathe another sphere than 
that which I just had left. When I came into 
my father's study, he smiled pleasingly, and asked 
the result of my interview. We were all silent ; 
and I perceived that my father's eyes were moist. 
Yet there was nothing decided ; and, resting on 
my arm, and supported on the other side by sweet 
Adelaide, he joined us in the dining-room at our 
humble meal. 

And then, as always when things seem uncer- 
tain, I appreciated the more the present blessings. 
My conversations with my father were more fre- 
quent, my walks with the children were prolonged. 
My study seemed a very sanctuary, adorned by 
the constant presence of Eleonore and the occa- 
sional visits of Adelaide. 

At last came the long-dreaded letter from Baron 
de Gevers. I unfolded it with deep emotion, and 
read his honorable proposal to become the guide 
of his sons, and the most valuable friend of his 
family, under conditions the most liberal and 
generous, expressed in delicate and considerate 
terms. It was a long and painful conflict — a con- 
flict with my native feelings, a conflict with my 
deep-rooted attachment to my father, a conflict 



CONFLICT AND SEPARATION. 105 

with the new affections which had sprung up in 
my bosom ; but, like all other conflicts, it had an 
end. I accepted ; and, on the 6th of December, 
I was to leave for the Hasfue. 

And then I began to write a treatise on Educa- 
tion, wherein I brought together in systematic or- 
der all that I had read and studied on the subject, 
with my own observations, personal experience, 
and reflections. I verily tried to " magnify my 
oflfice." I sent it to the baron, and received com- 
mending thanks, with the assurance that, if the 
practice came up to the well-delineated theory, he 
should esteem himself the happiest of fathers. I 
had frequent conversations with my aged parent ; 
and the project of once founding another " Hof- 
weil," like that of Fellenberg, at Berne, arose in 
my ^^ ambitious "mind — ambitious, indeed, but yet 
ambitious in a good and noble cause. And for 
for this I thank Thee, my God! that Thou didst 
direct the flame of that burning volcano, and didst 
preserve me from utter worldliness and vanity. 

My father at that time finished a treatise on 
the Christian religion ; the third and concluding 
volume of a course of moral philosophy which he 
had begun when teaching my elder brother, and 
which he now completed as an humble disciple of 
the Redeemer. Thus we were engaged, mutually 
encouraging each other in the prospect of ap- 
proaching separation ; whilst the dear angels, who 
made our home so bright, began to count the days 
when I should have to leave. 



106 CONFLICT AND SEPARATION. 

At length came St. Nicholas Eve, the last I 
was to spend with them. The rain was pouring 
fast, and I was sad and gloomy. There they 
stood, the little things, with their hoods and cloaks, 
expecting Mr. Leno to take them to the illumi- 
nated stores. I went with them, but in silence ; 
and I bought whatever they desired. Yet I was 
not cheerful, as children like to be ; for my heart 
was weak, and wrapped up in grief. And, on the 
following day I left. It came harder to me than 
when I left for the army. Then there was the 
excitement of the time, and the possibility of 
speedy return. Now there was no excitement; the 
separation would perhaps outlast my father's life ; 
and I left two sweet girls, of whom the older was, 
since two years, my pupil and constant companion, 
and the younger drew me with all the force of un- 
supported innocence. 



THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. 107 



CHAPTEK XIV. 

THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. 

The reception which I received, when late in the 
the evening I arrived at the baron's dwelling, was 
such as the most fastidious taste could desire. 
With courtly politeness, the two parents were 
waiting for me, and, with all the ease of perfect 
breedinof, there was a tino^e of emotion visible even 
on the polished surface, when each took one of my 
hands, and in simple but expressive words testified 
their inmost satisfaction. Then came the presen- 
tation of their sons — the one a boy of ten, stout 
and large, but with unprepossessing appearance ; 
the other a noble-looking child of eight, the image 
of his mother. And whilst I held them by the 
hand, and tried to read their mind, and spoke 
words of affection, the image of Eleonore and 
Adelaide forced itself upon me, and their loneli- 
ness and their extreme loveliness awakened my 
regret ; and, sitting down, I tried to hide my 
emotion. 

But it would not do ; and, taking courage from 
the honesty of my feelings, I at once explained 
the cause. And, when I proceeded in my narra- 
tive, the baron's eye was moist, for he had a gen- 
erous and sympathizing heart ; but the high, 
arched eyebrows of the baroness did not relax in 



108 THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. 

their stern and proud expression. For, until the 
Spirit of God had touched her heart, self was her 
idol : not in a narrow sense, however ; for she was 
noble, and capable of deep affection, and she loved 
her sons with extreme maternal fondness ; but all 
her affections were centered in her husband, her 
children, and a younger sister, the beautiful Bar- 
oness d'Ohsson. 

The following day, having surveyed my new 
domain, I found everything arranged with taste 
and foresight. There was my own apartment and 
that of my two pupils, and a magnificent study 
with library, and a cheerful view on a pretty, gar- 
den ; and when we met at the breakfast -table, 
served in real English style, simple but cheerful, 
and, as it were, breathing a perfume of refined 
taste over the coming day, we discoursed pleasingly 
on the task which I had come to fulfill. Then the 
baron gave me, in the study, a precise account of 
the foundation he had laid. On examining the chil- 
dren, I found that Fenelon himself could not have 
wished a better structure to build upon. I laid 
out a plan of studies for the year to come ; and 
thus the time was passed until we heard the sum- 
mons of the dinner-bell. 

My arrival had created a sensation among the 
numerous relatives and friends of the baron. But 
never shall I forget the considerate politeness 
wherewith he introduced me successively to all. 
That day, the beautiful Baroness Louise d'Ohsson 
was at the family table. Married when very 



THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. 109 

young to the ambassador of Sweden, a plain-look- 
ing but noble and generous man and devoted hus- 
band, she was as fascinating by the loveliness of 
her disposition and the refined culture of her well- 
informed mind as by the classical beauty of her 
features and the graceful sweetness of her manners. 
And, when she became my pupil in German, I 
must confess that the hours spent with her were 
equally delightful and profitable ; for, with her un- 
erring tact and delicate spirit of observation, she 
gave me many useful hints as to the ways of the 
world. Herself not blessed with children, she 
took the deepest interest in the education of her 
nephews. 

And to them I now devoted myself with unre- 
lenting assiduity. No maps that I could find were 
good enough for them : I constructed them others 
according to my views. No historical tables could 
be found to suit my taste. I made them myself. 
And, when the daily task was performed, I sat 
down and wrote in a diary the most minute de- 
tails : their recitations, their readings, their relax- 
ation, their occasional remarks, my own reflections 
on their disposition and character, suggestions, 
etc., all found their place in those pages, succes- 
sively written for the daily inspection of the par- 
ents. I did so during many years ; and each 
morninof the mother read it with her sons, and 
praised or corrected as there was occasion or need. 
Thus the education of these boys became the main 
point of my thoughts ; and when, in after-time, 



110 THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. 

I saw them advance and grow in extensive knowl- 
edge, and far excel their occasional companions, 
their parents honoring me as their greatest bene- 
factor, I seemed to lose my personality in theirs : 
they were indeed the work of my hands ; they 
had become the embodiment of my deepest thought 
and care. 

But to return to the beginnings of this career, 
if career it may be called. With all this labor 
and zeal for my new pupils, I could not conquer 
my affectionate regret for those never-to-be-for- 
gotten sweet children, who had unknowingly been 
the cause of the new direction my life had taken. 
Nor could I forget the privation of my father, who 
used to call me his '^ joy and consolation," and ^'the 
light of his eyes." And, when Christmas came, I 
stayed two days with them. Well do I remem- 
ber the joy of those children, when at night I ar- 
rived, and the life which Mr. Leno seemed to have 
brouofht ao'ain into the little household. Then 
Eleonore showed me her work so carefully per- 
formed in my absence, and Adelaide seemed with 
renewed zeal to study with her aged protector; 
and himself I found cheerful, yet missing me in 
daily intercourse. 

But I returned to my post ; and the letters of 
Eleonore were many, and many were the answers. 
And once she came to see me, and enjoyed one 
evening in my study. The baroness entered, and 
addressed her with graceful kindness ; but she was 
cold, and the child felt it ; and two years thereaf- 



THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. m 

ter the baroness confessed her selfish error, for 
then the dew of a more heavenly charity had be- 
gun to soften her otherwise noble hea,rt. 

And now I began to think of providing in the 
Hague a dwelling for my father and Mrs. de R. 
with her dear children. It served to occupy our 
minds with the prospect at least of sweet reunion ; 
though it would have been incomplete, and per- 
haps a hindrance in my task. But, whilst we 
were seeking and corresponding, I received the 
tidings that my father was very ill. 

Bravely he struggled during nine wearisome 
years against infirmity and straitened circum- 
stances. On my last anniversary, he sent me 
" Droz on Moral Philosophy," with the touching 
and precious inscription : "To my only and ten- 
derly beloved son. I invoke on him the blessing 
of the Most High. May His Spirit guide him 
mercifully through this pilgrimage to the goal of 
Jesus Christ, blessed by his fellow-pilgrims for the 
tears which he will have dried and the sufierings 
he will have relieved ; desired by his friends, and, 
as such, first of all, by his father, who, by Divine 
Mercy, hopes to go before him into the abode of 
Grace." 

I hastened to Leiden. It was Ascension Day, 
in the sweet month of May, when I arrived, and 
found him weaker than usual. The gleam of joy 
wherewith he welcomed me in silence — for he 
could scarcely speak — I shall never forget. " I 
thank you," came' out in stammering words. "My 



112 THE WOKLD WIDE OPEN. 

dissolution is near," followed long after. The 
Easter Daj before, he had, for the last time, par- 
taken of the Holy Communion ; an exertion 
almost incredible; for he was lame on one side,, 
and the distance was great. And that night, when 
we had brought him to bed, he slept little; but in 
the morning he said, " Do you hear that music ? " 
And when I observed there had been none, he 
said, " Music of angels — of angels ! " 

We saw that his days were numbered ; and the 
faithful physician, who during nine years attended 
him, said so : for his lungs were paralyzed, and 
life was ebbing slowly away. And on the last 
evening, when, kneeling down, I tried to catch the 
slightest sound, he said in the lowest whisper, and 
at long intervals, '^ You have been a faithful son 
to me — faithful to the last. God bless you, bless 
you, my hope and consolation ! " And then he 
spoke no more, and remained quiet, breathing 
slower and slower. -It was not until on the follow- 
ing day that he breathed his last, surrounded by 
Mrs. de Ridder, who seemed to lose a father ; and 
by those weeping children, who loved him so ten- 
derly ; and by his faithful servant, who never left 
him for seven years. I closed his eyes reverently; 
and, leaving the room, went into the garden to 
give way to my deepest grief 

For now I remembered all from the beginning 
— his care and love, his sufferings, his long illness, 
and patience. And I remembered no more the 
good I had done, but my deficiencies; and although 



THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. 113 

he departed with blessing, yet, oh ! what would I 
have oiven to receive one blessino- more ! And, 
whilst I was walking up and down the garden, 
Professor Tydeman came to mourn with me; and, 
shortly after, the chevalier added words of friendly 
consolation. 

And Professor T., who never had approved of 
my educational career, whilst praising my devo- 
tedness to my father, said, " That now the world 
ivas ivide open before me." These words, though 
at that time unheeded, yet afterwards returned 
with force to my remembrance, and caused me not 
a little disturbance ; for, though enthusiastic in 
my j)resent occupation, I could not deny that I 
risked the sacrifice of the future prospects of my 
own ambition. 

On the fourth day thereafter, on the twelfth an- 
niversary of my dear Eleonore, I buried my father ; 
and, having given two or three days more to re- 
gret him with my sweetest girls — now, it seemed 
to me, twice orphans — I left the sad and mourn- 
ing little family, to resume my task at the Hague. 

I was gloomy and depressed ; and though I 
conscientiously worked, yet there was a secret un- 
easiness, and desire for change. And when I 
heard that Gen. de Eerens had been appointed 
Governor-general of Netherlands' India, and 
would sail in a few months, I went to see him. 
He was my cousin by my mother's side, and had 
always shown us regard. " I can do all for you," 
said he, '^ when you are there, but nothing before." 



114 THE WORLD WIDE OPEN. 

I then began to think of taking my doctor's de- 
gree, not only in philosophy, but also in jurispru- 
dence ; and added to my educational labors the 
finishing strokes to my academical dissertation, 
together with the necessary preparations for ex- 
aminations in law. 

And in midsummer I made a journey to Leeu- 
warden, to see my mother and sister. On my re- 
turn, I stopped at Leiden, and passed a few days 
with Mrs. de E-idder and the dear children. Those 
days I remember like yesterday. But what fol- 
lows is strangely obscure. Mrs. de Ridder left 
Leiden ; and, during six years, I never saw her 
nor Eleonore and Adelaide. Now and then, a let- 
ter from Eleonore showed signs of life. In lone- 
liness, the noble mother devoted her days to her 
daughters, whom she trained with care and Christ- 
ian faithfulness. How I could lose sight of her ; 
how I could, as it were, forget the sweet compan- 
ions of my father's last solitude — I do not know, 
I cannot conceive. It must be that the world be- 
gan to grasp me, and that I became more selfish. 
I do not know. But one thing I knoAV : I some- 
times felt a pang, and afterwards a secret reproach, 
as if I had neglected a sacred duty, and even 
slighted the memory of him who loved them so 
well. 



LADY MARIE. 115 



CHAPTER XV. 

LADY MARIE. 

The last time I saw those sweet children, I 
have a faint recollection that they were sick, very 
sick; and I came down to see and comfort them ; 
but could not return, being taken ill myself Long 
and tedious was my illness, and the fever would 
not leave me. And, during that time, the baron- 
ess, whom I shall henceforth call Lady Marie — a 
name more endeared to me — was my only nurse. 
She took care of the prescriptions and the room, 
and all the minute detail which make a sick man's 
safety when he is ill, and his comfort when conva- 
lescent. Her noble and devoted nature gave proof 
of real affection for the friend of her sons. It 
made a deep impression upon me, and bound my 
heart to her with more than ordinary admiration. 

And when, at last, the disease began to yield, 
and, weary and tired, I had to wait for returning 
strength, I commenced reading the works of 
Goethe, that prince of poets and practical philoso- 
phers. I remember the succession wherein I 
read, and the impression made by his several 
works. It was not a happy one : it tore away the 
feeble remainder of positive belief, and made me 
restless. And I read the Autobiography of Ben- 
.venuto Cellini, the celebrated sculptor, and, lying 



116 LADY MARIE. 

on my coucli, began to translate it, nor ceased be- 
fore I had finished it for pubHcation ; then the 
Memoirs of Lord Byron, and the dramas of Alfieri, 
and the works of Balzac, and those of the roman- 
tic school of France ; and my mind, relieved of 
serious studies, began to wander in the fields of 
fiction and poetry and false philosophy. 

Those were dreamy days, wherein I formed 
many fantastic plans of life ; for now the ivorld luas 
wide open before me. I was free indeed ; nothing 
to bind me — nothing, short-sighted young man ! 
but the invisible web of circumstances ; nothing but 
'^ what is to be, is!'' Soon I was again at work 
with my pupils. Contrary to my better judgment, 
and contrary to the method which I afterwards in- 
variably followed, I began with Latin instead of 
Greek ; and I was often interrupted in my lessons 
by a visit from Lady Marie, who never failed to 
bring me into acquaintance with her numerous 
friends. 

Once she introduced me to a ladv sweet and un- 
assuming, yet with all the refinement and tact of 
high position. And, when she spoke the German 
tongue with musical cadence and harmonious full- 
ness, I remember I was entranced ; and, though 
perfectly at home in German, it seemed I had 
never heard the like before. It was the lovely 
Countess de Rossi, who, before she became the 
wife of the Sardinian ambassador, was simply 
Henriette Sontag, the glory of theater and opera. 
She was the embodiment of womanly virtue 



LADY MARIE. 117 

and dignity. She unreservedly spoke of her first 
career, but bore her rank and title with perfect 
ease and gracefulness. I saw her often ; but that 
morning's conversation left an impression of sweet 
respect. How little did I think, when listening 
to the fascinating sound of her kind and pleasing 
words, that, twenty years thereafter, I should be 
on the Pacific coast, and read in public print the 
solitary demise of Henriette Sontag, once more 
the prima donna, who died of cholera in one of the 
South American cities, and found a lonely burial- 
place in Cuba's populous capital ! 

Kestless and full of youthful activity, my mind 
overstrained by reading and study and thought, I 
had nothing to work upon but my two pupils. It 
was impossible for one constituted as I was to be 
contented : and I sous^ht in vain a soothinof medi- 
cine in the pages of ancient philosophy. Lady 
Marie, with woman's unerring tact, perceived my 
disease (for such it was), and, measuring its extent, 
sought to apply the only remedy she knew. 
During a few days' absence at L., I had written 
her a letter, wherein, with morbid sensitiveness, I 
complained of having found in her neither a mother 
nor a sister. On my return, she summoned me to 
her boudoir ; and when I stood before her like a 
culprit, conscious of having committed a folly, she 
made me sit down ; and, leaning back in her arm- 
chair, she said in a tone of playful earnestness: 

" My dear Mr. Leno, you must confess I am too 
young to be your mother ; but I shall always be 



118 LADY MARIE. 

to you a sister, and even more than that — a true 
and sincere yney^c?." 

Thus saying, she held out her hand, which I 
reverently touched with my lips ; for she came 
nearest to my heau ideal of a woman's dignified 
goodness. 

"And now," continued she, "let me use my 
rights — the rights of clear-sighted, unprejudiced 
friendship. You must go out ; you must visit ; 
you must no more retire so often from our drawing- 
rooms ; you must not read so much, nor worry 
yourself about my sons. To liveyor the world, we 
must live with it ; and, to live vnth the world, we 
must live in it." 

And forthwith she drew out a list of visits to be 
paid, and engaged me to take dinner there and 
there at such and such a day ; and made me prom- 
ise that at least twice a week I should visit the 
opera. I followed her directions ; and I remem- 
ber how by degrees the channel of my thoughts 
was changed. I had occasion to observe the 
" fashionable " world in its fairest aspect. It was 
the circle of the court ; it was the combination of 
beauty with polished education and refined taste. 
There was no occasional excitement : it was all 
natural, or, rather, second-nature. The conversa- 
tions were light and trifling, it must be said : but 
now and then a serious thought was gladly taken 
up and followed; and, when a genial spirit ap- 
peared, he was welcomed, and found a willing audi- 
ence. Literature was discussed, and art and sci- 



LADY MARIE. 119 

ence ; yea, even philosophy. Tact and discretion, 
it is true, forbade to '^exhaust" the subject; but 
this prevented wearisome repetition, and gave 
every one occasion to contribute his mite to the 
general entertainment. 

Court and high life have been disparaged ; but 
I must confess, that I have nowhere found the 
same observance of courteousness, the same uni- 
form desire to please, the same delicacy of obser- 
vation, and, in manv instances, the same deofree of 
generosity and sincere homage to genius and talent. 
And, although a certain amount of levity seemed 
to pervade the whole, I have known persons, truly 
devout, who were scrupulous observers of courtly 
etiquette. 

As for the theater, its influences have always 
seemed to me more on the wrong than on the right 
side. The unavoidable excitement ; the passionate 
nature of the drama ; the preferences, more or less 
enthusiastic, for actors and actresses ; the fasci- 
nating array of beauty in the richly decorated 
boxes — all this seems to create a world wherein 
imagination has more extensive play than is safe 
for sober morality. And what might be admired 
as a work of art, in harmonious performance, en- 
trancing music and tasteful decorations, is absorbed, 
as it were, by the thrilling emotions caused by the 
tout ensemble. 

Thus I passed the winter from 1834 to 1835: 
and, when spring came, it was my turn to console 
and encourage Lady Marie ; for her sweet sister, 



120 LADY MARIE. 

the Baroness d'Ohsson, followed her husband to 
Berlin, where he had been appointed Swedish am- 
bassador. It was a grievous loss, and Lady Marie 
was sorely tried. Her visits in our study were 
more frequent ; and often she would sit down with 
her work of tapestry, and listen with satisfaction 
to the recitations of her noble boys. Not all the 
turmoil of the winter season had diminished the 
enthusiastic ardor wherewith I pursued their 
studies. I had, as with Eleonore, found the right 
material ; and, thus far, the workmanship justified 
the workman. 

But, in the month of May, I was again laid up 
with fever ; and Lady Marie was again at my bed- 
side, with indefatigable perseverance ministering 
to my wants. The family was preparing to leave 
for the country ; and I was weak and suffering, 
when I was wrapped up, and placed in the car- 
riage; and, Lady Marie taking her seat at my 
side, we arrived, in the middle of a warm sum- 
mer day, at Bivulet Mansion, the place of our 
destination. 

It was a lovely spot — a spacious manor, shel- 
tered from the cold sea winds by a range of pict- 
uresque hills; the grounds laid out in antique 
style, with large and massive avenues and noble 
parks ; at six miles' distance from the capital, 
where the baron's duties called him often ; and, a 
few miles from Leiden, it had an easv access to the 
ancient city of learning, and to the modern center 
of the heau-monde. There scarcely passed a day 



LADY MARIE. 121 

without some equipages driving up, and the hos- 
pitable reception-rooms were often filled. I made 
there many an agreeable acquaintance ; for, in the 
country, even the etiquette of court gives way 
to more familiar intercourse, and the beauty of 
Nature suof^ests an inexhaustible source of conver- 
sation. 

Whoever has read the first chapter of these 
sketches may remember that I had, from early 
childhood, and with very good reason, an aversion 
bordering on positive hatred to anything Prussian. 
Now it happened that one of the guests of the 
day was the minister of Prussia, with his wife ; 
and Lady Marie, w^ho, I believe, knew^ my feel- 
ings, with characteristic decision introduced me at 
once. 

With the Prussian aristocracy, family pride is 
proverbial. The noble count, after the first words 
of introduction, perceiving my hesitating reserve, 
increased by the flush of lingering fever, reached 
me his hand, and said with winning smile: *' The 
Austrian double eagle, sir, can afford to be gener- 
ous, and to forofet the mistakes of the Prussian 
single bird." I took his hand and pressed it. It 
was impossible to say more in fewer words ; im- 
possible to meet the case with more vigor ; impos- 
sible to acknowledge in nobler terms the last de- 
scendant of a princely line. From that moment 
the field was clear ; there was no reserve ; and our 
intercourse during the remainder of the day was 
pleasant and cheerful. Thus the strongest preju- 
dice may be conquered by real courtesy. 



122 LADY MARIE. 

As soon as I had recovered my strength I fin- 
ished mv academical dissertation, containinof nu- 
merous experiments on a then newly discovered 
phenomenon, called Endosmose smd Exosmose ; and, 
after its approval by the Faculty, I had it printed. 
On the tenth day of June, I defended it, and re- 
ceived my diploma as Master of Mathematics and 
Doctor of Natural Philosophy. In these diplo- 
mas there is a threefold grade, according to the 
merits of the defence — either simply, or ivith praise, 
or with great praise. I succeeded in obtaining the 
highest honors. 

But now the thought of '^ making a career" be- 
gan again to occupy me with renewed force. I 
was deeply- interested in the education of my two 
pupils ; and a third brother, a lovely boy of six, 
began to claim my attention. I could not help 
myself, and took him in my study. I taught him 
to write and draw, and German and history. To 
teach him was no labor, but indeed a relaxation of 
the mind. With that he had a disposition so 
loving and thoughtful, an ingenuity so persevering, 
that, day by day, I felt the bond of attraction 
stronger. And, of his brothers, the younger one 
was all I could desire. It was impossible, w^ith 
parents so refined and appreciating, not to feel 
that, a year later, a separation would be almost 
impossible. 

And then the saying returned to my young and 
enterprising spirit, " The world is wide open before 
you ;" and it seemed I had to make a choice be- 
tween those boys and the wide field of the world. 



LADY MARIE. 123 

Whilst my pupils made a fortnight's excursion 
with their father, I traveled to Leeu warden to see 
my mother and sister ; and there we deliberated 
on my various plans, and I finally came to the con- 
clusion to seek my fortune in the East India colo- 
nies. Thence I wrote a letter to the baron, ap- 
prising him of my wish of being released from my 
engagement. Frankly I stated my reasons, in my 
opinion, such as he must approve himself. I 
knew too well the grief it would cause him ; I 
knew the sorrow of Lady Marie ; I knew the re- 
gret of the children. Bnt I thought I was right; 
and, with the feeling of having recovered my lib- 
erty, I journeyed home, yet not without fore- 
bodings of the coming struggle. 



124 WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 



CHAPTEK XYI. 

WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 

It was late in the evening when I rode up the 
long and dark avenue to Rivulet Mansion. I could 
see the light from far as it was burning in the 
large drawing-room, where I was sure to meet the 
baron and Lady Marie. I found it even worse 
than I had anticipated. The baron's emotion was 
deep ; and though accustomed to show a remarka- 
ble equanimity, I saw but too well that his inmost 
soul was grieved. 

'^' Many," said he, " have been my disappoint- 
ments in life, many the sorrows which I have suf- 
fered from my own father's injustice. All my joy 
and future expectation are concentrated in my 
sons. In you we had an able, faithful guardian of 
their youth. How shall we replace you ? How 
shall we repair the harm done by change in 
method, and, above all, in moral training ? Far 
better would it have been for us, for them, never 
to have known you, than, knowing you once, to 
lose you !" 

" I never thought, Mr. Leno," said Lady Marie, 
^' that you would have come to this. In the midst 
of a life of external comfort, you know we have 
our griefs and cares ; but if for anything I blessed 
God, it was for your presence among us. Oh, how 



WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 125 

can you seek for a better sphere of usefulness than 
here, where you can bestow so • much good, and 
where you are, you must confess it, so thoroughly 
appreciated ? " 

If anything could move me, it was a mother's love 
for her sons, her tender care for their well-being ; 
but when that mother was a noble lady, with all the 
gifts of fortune and beauty, and when her soul was 
shaken with apprehension, and all the happiness 
of her life seemed to hang upon a decision, I must 
confess it needed all my love of liberty, all my 
desire to restore the fallen fortunes of my house, 
to resist the strong appeals of her maternal affec- 
tion. 

I did resist, and remained firm in my resolution 
to leave about the time of Christmas. In the 
meanwhile, the children should remain ignorant of 
the impending separation ; and I would do all I 
could to instruct my successor, as soon as found, in 
the plan of education I had laid out and followed 
thus far. 

The oldest of my pupils was now twelve years 
of age. With wayward disposition, he needed 
tact and love to bring out the good that was in 
him, and to correct the evil, which seemed to 
strive for the mastery. His brother Charles was 
ten years old, and, as I said before, the image of 
his mother. Warm of heart and clear of head, he 
was to me perfection. He clung to me with all 
the fervor of appreciating instinct. Never loved I 
a boy so well. And his mother knew his excel- 



126 WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 

lence ; and, though firm and severe, she knew the 
bond of sympathy between him and me, and trem- 
bled for the time when he should lose me. The 
youngest, Alfred, was a fair and lovely child of 
seven, as amiable and intelligent as fancy could 
wish him. 

Such were these children whom I had molded 
and instructed, and, above all, loved, since nearly 
two years. Yet I loved them not for Thy sake, 
Fountain of love! but only because they happened 
to please me. For, since four years, I had more 
and more forgotten Thee ; and when, in the ab- 
sence of the faithful mother, I had to read to them 
Thy Word, I did it unwilHngly and as a task. 
And when the mother, perceiving my unbelieving 
tendency, asked me many an evening to read her 
some eloquent pages of Thy faithful servants, I 
did it with reluctance, and thought it tedious and 
unprofitable. 

And I remember that I was restless, as one who 
seeks a thing and does not know what he seeks. 
What brought me to this state I do not know. 
But the night I remember, when, lying down to 
sleep, I could not sleep ; and, tossing on my bed, 
I suffered a mental agony of which I try in vain 
to recall any detail. How long it lasted, I do not 
know ; but ' the clock struck three, when I ex- 
claimed in these very words, " Oh, that there were 
one betw^een God and me ! Oh, that he could 
pray ! 

And, when I try to remember how it was, it 



WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 127 

seems to me there came a voice, not to my ear, but 
to my very soul, ^'That is Jesus Christy the Medi- 
ator ! " Thus it seems to me I heard it ; and I 
know I sprang up, and, falling on my knees, burst 
out in tears. And what I prayed, or how long, I 
do not know. One thing I do know — that, since 
that night, there was a daybreak in my soul, which 
since was often overclouded, but never ceased to 
increase in light. 

Whether this was to be called conversion, or 
regeneration, or new birth, I do not care. Twenty- 
five years have rolled by, and brought their joys 
and sorrows, their changes of opinion, of tenets, 
and of views ; but my soul, when w;earied with 
perplexities and the fallacy of human devices, 
darts, like a bird to its nest, to the night when the 
Fountain of love was opened to me. Yea, it even 
now turns to that night as to a pledge of faithful- 
ness. What then was done, it seems as if it never 
could be undone. It seems to me like the hand of 
God interfering in the midst of my career, not to 
change it, but to give a new and better direction 
to my thoughts. 

And I took my father's Bible, and began to read 
regularly every day the New Testament. It 
seemed a new book. Had I not read it from my 
childhood ? Had I not studied it when preparing 
for confirmation ? Yet I remember it seemed all 
new to me ; and, when I read the Old Testament, 
strangely new seemed all the prophecies and 
types. 



128 WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 

Thus I read and studied, and took counsel with 
no one ; and I began to love the children with 
another love, and to feel more anxious for the 
eldest. When the mother perceived the change 
in my feelings, she was amazed ; for she used to 
come frequently to my study, and to talk freely on 
many subjects: but, when she saw my ardor, she 
one evening said, with a mixture of jest and 
meaning : 

" Indeed, Mr. Leno, I foresee that you will lose 
your senses." 

Then I remember saying, with strong persua- 
sion : 

^' Lady Marie, within three months you will 
think as I do now." 

And so it was ; for my convictions, burning with 
the ardor of " first love," awakened in her a 7iew 
sense. Formal religion had left her cold, and un- 
aware of her shortcomings. 

*^ I bless God," thus wrote she once, " for hav- 
ing given me in you a friend who shows my soul 
a better course than that which thus far I have 
followed. I feel that religion, religion alone, can 
renovate the human heart." 

And, with this new bond of union, our inter- 
course became more intimate, our conversations 
more useful, our interest in the children more deep 
and real, and my influence in the whole family 
stronger and stronger, the more the time ap- 
proached for our separation. 

The brother of the baron, now a minister of 



WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 129 

state, a man of distinguished talents and solid 
academical education, took a deep interest in his 
nephews. He could fully appreciate the plan thus 
far pursued. One night, he entered my study, 
and left me a paper, which he requested me to 
peruse with attention. It was a letter, containing, 
in most forcible language, the reasons why I should 
give up my project. He urged me to finish at 
least the education of the two oldest sons. He 
urged the excellency of the younger one. He 
certainly made out what might be called a strong 
case, but failed to convince me. And from Berlin 
the Baroness Louise d'Ohsson, wrote to me : 

*^ You are too much attached to them, not deeply 
to feel the involuntary grief you cause them. Had 
I been there, I would have tried to speak ; but 
what to do at a distance ? . . . I know this sub- 
ject must be painful to you, and, by continual rep- 
etition, almost hateful ; yet you could not hate me. 
Sometimes I hope that time, reflection, difficulties, 
but, more than that, the regrets of those parent 
friends and of that docile child, and the intimate 
afl^ection wherewith you love them, may have 
shaken your resolution. I would be too rejoiced, 
too much so, to hope it reasonably; but we are not 
always reasonable." 

What kept me up against so many influences, I 
do not know. It is true, I ivorked hard. Besides 
my constant labors with my pupils, I devoted, 
with all the ardor of a new convert (if thus I might 
call myself), much time to Bible study, and pre- 
pared my two examinations — one as candidate in 



130 WHAT IS TO BE, IS. 

law, and the other as candidate in theoretical phi- 
losophy and literature; and, in the beginning of 
December, I passed them both satisfactorily. 

At last, the gentleman who had to continue my 
task was introduced. He was a Swiss licentiate, 
unprepossessing in appearance, and of moderate 
attainments. He assumed with me a familiarity 
to which I was not accustomed. I took pains, 
however, to explain to him the method pursued, 
and gave my advice how best to proceed. He de- 
clared bluntly that he did not intend to trouble 
himself so much. I shall never forofet that after- 
noon. Everything relating to my pupils was 
almost sacred to me. To see it slighted, I could 
not bear. But when I saw my boys, perceiving 
what was going on, perplexed and sorrowful ; when 
I saw^ Charles, with flushed cheeks, taking hold of 
my hands, and, with trembling voice, asking ivliat 
it was— I suffered an anguish w^hich I cannct de- 
scribe. But this was nothing when compared with 
Lady Marie's appearance. I cannot even now 
think of it without pain. Day by day, they all 
became more endeared to me. Day by day, it 
seemed that I had to be there, and nowhere else. 
And thus Christmas Eve approached ; when, for 
the last time, we sat together around the large 
fire-place in the drawing-room. But, when the 
carriage drove up, the boys encircled me with tears; 
yea, even the elder one felt he lost a friend : and, 
wdth promises of mutual letters, I contrived to hide 
my deep emotion in the carriage, which took me 
once more to the Alma Mater. 



IN THE MARKET. 131 



CHAPTER XVII. 

IN THE MARKET. 

It was nearly midnight when I reached my 
lodgings in Leiden. Twelve years before I arrived 
there a growing youth, ready to enter the lists as 
a student. Now my father was no more, my 
mother and sister far off, Eleonore and Adelaide I 
had lost, and the relation binding me to a family 
which I had begun to consider as my own I had 
broken, after months of painful struggle. 

I sat down, I must confess, with a heavy heart. 
My presence in Leiden recalled blessed and sor- 
rowful memories ; and, when I heard a passing 
company of students singing their merry " To vi- 
vat!" I felt that the years of a student's life w^ere 
gone, and that the realities of active life had ar- 
rived, waitinof for exertion and couraofe. 

I laid out a plan of occupation so as to be busy 
from morning until night, and to forget, if possi- 
ble, the strong affections of my heart. The early 
morning was given to religious reading and 
writing; for I had soon gathered some theological 
books, and, first of all, began to study Hebrew. 
Whatsoever the sudden revulsion in the life-stream 
of my thoughts might be called, I seemed to have 
aiuaJced. What the rising sun does in the early 
morniDg — that first glimmering, that first illumi- 



132 IN THE MARKET. 

nation of the mountain-tops, that gentle increase 
of light on plain and valley — all that, I remember 
it now, took place literally in my thus far be- 
nighted soul. I was hungry after spiritual food, 
and thirsty after what is rightly called the "waters 
of life ;" and, of all the books of Scripture, I have 
yet a lively remembrance of the deep impression 
made upon me when studying the first chapter of 
St. John's Gospel and the forty-second chapter of 
Isaiah. 

The remainder of the morning was devoted to 
my studies in law, and the preparation of my aca- 
demical essay ; whilst, in the evening, I kept my 
correspondence, and now and then, but seldom, 
saw a friend. But, notwithstanding my incessant 
labor, I could not escape the constantly recurring 
remembrance of my pupils. Within a week after 
my departure I received from their noble mother 
the following lines : 

" I must write you a few words, to thank you, 
from the depth of my soul, for the lively and deep- 
felt interest which you never ceased to show my 
sons, even during the last moments you were with 
them. Charles gave me your parting letter. We 
read it often and often, and not without deep emo- 
tion. The advice you give this well-deserving 
child will, I hope, also be followed by his mother, 
whose heart is more than broken. Adolphe gave 
me his letter only last night ; when, sleepless like 
his mother, he called for me, and, with repentance 



IN THE MARKET. 133 

for past errors, asked me to pray with him. Do 
not forget your promise to pray daily for them. 
.Could you have heard Charles's prayer at his 
awaking this morning, it would have touched you. 
Adieu ! I remain your sincere pupil and friend, 

Marie." 

And, a few days later, I received word that 
Charles was very ill, and wished ardently to see 
me. I found him on his bed, with burning fever, 
my letter in his hand. 

" My dear sir, my dear sir," said he, *' I am so 
glad to see you ! " 

I remained with him a day and tried to soothe 
his feelings ; and promised to come and see them 
often, as often as I could. To be sure, I bought 
my liberty at a great price ; for I saw that the 
boy's heart was sorely afflicted. And whilst I was 
thus studying, and learning to pray, and seek 
counsel at the Source of wisdom, there came to me 
a letter from the Baroness Louise d'O., so touch- 
ing and so true, that I wish to embody part of it 
in these memoirs, though I can scarcely render 
the impressive, noble language of the original : 

"And so, in this resolution, unhappily taken, 
painfully followed, cruelly achieved — in this reso- 
lution, I say, it was written that none of the par- 
ties should not suffer ; for you, too — you suffer for 
having left, not a house of strangers, not individu- 
als moderately affectionate, but a house which 



134 IN THE MARKET. 

begged to be yours, beings who clang to you by 
all the bonds of the human heart. You suffer, I 
am sure, for having yourself violently broken these, 
bonds, for having filled with sadness the hearts to 
whom you were attached, for having interrupted a 
task so useful, for having abandoned a place where 
your presence was considered a blessing. And 
when, after that, I behold my good sister ; when I 
see, when I feel, when I suffer, for her present 
grief, and think of the coming grief which may be 
the result — then my heart suffers much. I must 
confess it — and shall I say it ? — this suffering, I 
believe it comes home to you." 

And with this letter unfolded before me, and 
one from Charles, wherein he said, ^^ I do as you 
have told me — I forget you ; hut, whilst forgetting 
you J I think of you I'' — with these letters, I say, 
before me, a gentleman who wished to see me was 
announced. 

He was polite and courtly. He opened his 
mission with circumspection. He was charged, 
he said, by the Baron de Zuylen, his uncle, to 
make proposals to me. He sought a tutor for his 
sons. He thought the position might be accept- 
able ; I would be a friend in the house, etc. 

" And who told your uncle," said I with undis- 
guised indignation, " that I was 'in the ^market V 
Know this, my good sir, that not even the Prince 
of the Netherlands could have my private ser- 
vices." 



IN THE MARKET. 135 

The nephew left, perhaps astonished at my ve- 
hemence. I could not help it. And well do I 
remember how I leaned back in my chair, and, 
.with a mixture of sorrow and indignation, ex- 
claimed, "/?! the market r Then it was time, in- 
deed, that I should break off, and run another 
course. Thus spoke the natural heart, born and 
nurtured in pride ; and, with renewed zeal, I took 
up my studies in law, and wrote to those of my 
friends who wished to give their help to hasten 
their measures. And I remember, that same day, 
to have written the first pages of my academical 
law-essay ; and then I took the stage, and started 
for Leeu warden, to see my mother once more before 
I should finally leave. 

I was there a whole week, and even there con- 
tinued to write and labor ; and I took leave from 
my mother and sister as one who should not see 
them for a long, long time to come. But, when I 
arrived in my solitary study, I found a letter from 
the baron ; and what a letter 1 In simple but 
forcible language, he expressed the disappointment 
of his best hopes. The Swiss licentiate proved to 
be unfit for his task in more than one respect. 

'* If you could see," said he, ^^ the sorrow of my 
sons, and the deep affliction of their mother, you 
would, I know your heart, be grieved and per- 
plexed. Judge of my feelings. You wish to be 
free : remain free. But return for the time you 
are here, and console those who suffer by your ab- 
sence. Table and room will always be ready for 



136 IN THE MARKET. 

you ; for as one of our own do we consider you : 
but live where you will and as you will ; only re- 
turn, and give joy and cheerfulness to those whom 
you love." 

And I sat down, and wrote in serious language, 
according to the fullness of my heart : 

*^ I wish to be free, and must be free. Well 
have you understood the first need of my inmost 
nature ; but there is more. Many of my friends 
are kindly engaged in preparing my way. With 
regard to my future course, I am not free. And 
there is even more. Should I never go to India, 
then the whole bent of my mind, the whole force 
of my impulse, goes one way ; and that is the im- 
provement of public instruction, the Christianizing 
of education, the harmonizing of the various parts 
into one blessed result — the Christian citizen. If, 
therefore, I return, it is temporarily in every sense. 
It cannot be otherwise. I cannot be unfaithful to 
the dictates of my native feelings, nor to those of 
a higher influx, of which I am fully conscious ; 
and, with these views, is it advisable to make a 
change ? Is it advisable to resume a task, which, 
however sweet to my taste and feelings, must 
nevertheless be interrupted again, to renewed mu- 
tual grief?" 

Thus I wrote, and continued my studies and 
labor ; but, on the first of March, I received a let- 
ter approving of my honest frankness, yet insist- 
ing upon my immediate return. . 

^^All," said he, "we need is your presence. 



IN THE MARKET. 137 

Your rooms are taken. They are cheerful, neat 
and near. Come, and restore happiness to those 
who love you so well ; and if, in the plans sug- 
gested, I can be of any use, you may be sure that 
a grateful father's aid will not be lacking." 

Thus he wrote, and thus he acted thereafter ; 
for he was sincere and honest, and a man of word 
and honor, though a courtier and a man of the 
world. I was perplexed. ^' What is to be, is," 
recurred to my mind ; and when, that evening, I 
took my place in the stage, I felt that some de- 
cided mark was made in the course of my life. 



138 A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 

The following morning I was startled by the 
sudden entrance of two most happy boys. Charles 
rushed up to me, and, throwing his arms around 
my neck, could say nothing but, " I am so glad 
you are come ! " And even Adolphe, the older 
one, felt, with deep emotion, that he had a friend 
again. Both were so happy that I forgot my per- 
plexity, and at once began to regulate their stud- 
ies. It was an easy work ; and, from the second 
day, we scarcely remembered the few months' in- 
terruption, and everything went on as if I had 
never been absent. 

In those days it was that Lady Marie gave an- 
other proof of her devoted character, now exalted 
by the sweetness of Christian sympathy and love. 
Her faithful attendant. Rose, a handsome girl 
from quiet Iverdun, in Switzerland (who, during 
many years, had been a watchful guardian of her 
infant boys), was taken with the small-pox. Lady 
Marie immediately locked herself up, and was the 
only one to nurse her. During six long weeks 
Rose saw none but Lady Marie, who never left 
her sick room, and cheerfully submitted to a com- 
plete isolation. Stronger proof of Christian grat- 
itude and love I have seldom, if ever, seen. 



A KOYAL AUDIENCE. 139 

My friends advised me to go and seek an audi- 
ence with the king, to present him my disserta- 
tion, and ask his royal favor in the furthering of 
my plans. I did so ; and, whilst waiting my turn 
in the royal ante -chamber, I met there Professor 
T., who observed that I ought to have appeared 
in my chasseur's uniform, which was a strong argu- 
ment in my favor. Whilst appreciating the just- 
ness of his remark, a feeling of bitterness came 
over me, and I told my noble friend that I had 
better arguments than my military dress. There 
also I met Professor P., the same whose historical 
question I had, ten years before, answered with 
such republican ardor. He smiled, and, alluding 
to the incident, said, *^I shall, when my turn 
comes, speak greatly in your favor ; but I think 
we had better keep silence about the Washington 
affair ! " 

At last, the folding-door was thrown open, and 
a chamberlain calling my name, I entered the 
audience- room. 

King William I. was at that time nearly seventy 
years of age. With little dignity, there was a 
quiet composure and a benevolent expression in 
his whole appearance which inspired confidence, 
and made him very popular. He was standing 
near a small writing-table, upon which he slightly 
leaned with his left hand, whilst the riofht hand 
was always ready to receive any request or docu- 
ment. I presented humbly my dissertation, "the 
modest fruits of my university studies." He 



140 A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 

gracefully accepted it, perused the title, and, lay- 
ing it on the table, said with a pleasing smile : 

" What can I do for you ? " 

" Nothing, sire : I ask nothing. But allow me 
to express my gratification at having seen and ad- 
dressed a sovereign whose persevering wisdom 
Europe has justly admired." 

" No request ? " asked the king, with a sort of 
astonishment, at the same time slightly inclining 
his head in acknowledgment of my courteous 
tribute. 

" None, sire." 

" I knew your father." 

" I know it, sire." 

" He is no more ?" 

''No more, sire." 

" Sir, I shall remember you." 

And, with this, a slight inclination was the sig- 
nal of withdrawing from the royal presence. When 
thereafter I met Professor T., he said with his pe- 
culiar emphasis, *' You are a strange solicitor in- 
deed ! You made no verbal request ; you pre- 
sented none in writing I It was happy I came 
after you, and made up for your deficiency. You 
are strange ! Just like your father !" 

I thanked him for his kindness ; but I did not 
tell him why I had no request to make. For, 
whilst standing before the earthly king, it was 
like a gleam of light passing through my inmost 
soul, "as if I had stood in the presence of a higher 
King, and there, in the depth of a solitary night, 



A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 141 

it had been decided what I should do or not do ;" 
and, though I was alone, and had taken counsel 
with no earthly being, the heavenly Majesty which 
vouchsafed to dwell a moment, an imperceptible 
moment, in my torn and heaving bosom, outshone 
in power and luster and goodness the earthly and 
corruptible majesty of my fellow- creature. Was 
this fanaticism ? I do not know. Thou knowest 
it, who hast made the souls of king and subject. 
It was not pride ; for, at my father's command, I 
had buried the grievous remembrances of the past. 
It was not pride ; for I sincerely honored the aged 
king, who had lost two- thirds of his domain, and 
bore his loss with Christian fortitude. What was 
it, then, Source of thought 1 (I have often tried 
to find it out), except it be that the luster of Thy 
countenance outshone all other considerations, and 
even the benevolent smile of aged royalty ? 

And, when the summer daj^s had come, we 
moved to Rivulet Mansion; but I took up my 
quarters in the village. For I felt my attachment 
growing so strong, that, should to this be added 
the daily intercourse of family life, a separation 
would almost become impossible. That summer is 
one of pleasant remembrance ; for I was incessantly 
occupied. My academical law-essay was passing 
into print ; my pupils were busily engaged ; and 
what was left of time I devoted to intense study 
of Hebrew. 

I had made the acquaintance of the pastor of 
the village — a young man of considerable talent 



142 A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 

and learning, and who delivered his two sermons 
a Sunday, and these of more than an hour's length, 
without the semblance of failure or hesitation ; for, 
in that country, to read a sermon is not allowed, 
and extemporaneous preaching unknown. It is 
all studied and written carefully, then learned by 
heart, and delivered with more or less ability. Our 
young pastor was not an ordinary man. Dignified, 
and beaming with benevolence, his discourses were 
beautiful and impressive. An excellent Hebrew 
scholar, he kindly volunteered his aid ; and many 
a time I sat in his study, pondering over the intri- 
cacies of Hebrew grammar. Of the old Masoretic 
school, he stuck to vowel-points and accents, and 
gave me trouble enough. In after-time, I followed 
my own way, and fared the better for it ; for I 
soon found that, of all grammars, the Hebrew is 
the simplest, because the oldest, and, I would say, 
the most approaching the divine pattern. 

But, as a theologian, I found our zealous and 
eloquent pastor very little orthodox. As yet un- 
acquainted with the endless variety of Protestant 
views, I drew my knowledge from the most simple 
Bible study. I had been unhappy, restless, and 
in the dark. I had felt the darkness ; and, with 
the name of Jesus Christ, a light had suddenly 
arisen. He had at once taken form and shape as 
a Mediator between God and me. I saw all in 
Him, and nothing, not even my long-neglected 
Creator, without Him. 

How was it, then, Fountain of truth ! that 



A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 143 

this young man, Thy minister and messenger, de- 
nied Thy divinity and Thy mediatorship ? How 
was it, then, that, when I opened my heart to 
him, he smiled at my conceit, and called it extrav- 
agance ? How was it, that when, perhaps impru- 
dently, I mentioned the blessed night wherein 
Thou calledst me, he laughed at my " conversion ?" 
Yet he v/as honest, and preached Thee, and minis- 
tered Thy holy sacraments ; and his prayers were 
powerful, and seemed to speed heavenward. 

And then I began to study other books, and the 
great split in the Protestant world dawned upon 
my searching mind. Reason I found the guide of 
the one, Faith the watchword of the others. But 
even in neither of the two camps did I find a center 
of unity, though all seemed to appeal to the word 
of God. Then, Fountain of light ! Thou knowest 
it, I was perplexed ; and in my perplexity I 
thought that, amongst Thy frail creatures, I might 
find what Thou alone possessest. 

And one afternoon I went to the Roman Cath- 
olic church, and found the pastor walking up and 
down the aisle whilst catechising the little chil- 
dren. He had been explaining the command- 
ments of the church, and asked : 

" Why must you obey these commandments ?" 

^' Because they are of the church." 

^' And why does the church give them ? " 

" Because they are according to the Bible, which 
is the word of God." 

'' And how do you know that the Bible is the 
word of God ? " 



144 A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 

" Because the church says so.'* 

And the pastor commended the answer of these 
children. But I found that he had made a circle^ 
beginning with the church and ending in the church ; 
and it left me an unsatisfactory impression. For 
I verily sought Thee, the Fountain of truth; or, 
at least, I hoped to drink of the waters coming 
from Thee, ^uch were my inward troubles, which 
now cause me to smile, but then made me anxious 
and thoughtful. 

And at last, my law dissertation being printed, 
I went to Leiden ; and, having defended it with 
the *' aplomb " of a doctor in philosophy, I re- 
ceived my diploma as a doctor in jurisprudence. 

The chevalier never approved of my East India 
project. He knew my character, and did not be- 
lieve that the more or less reckless, and often im- 
moral, tendencies of Indian life would agrefe with 
my disposition. The excellent Professor T. was 
altogether favorable to my plans. " Never doubt, 
but believe," said he. And my late commander, 
the Baron Yan Dam, worked zealously in my aid. 
In the month of June I received from him a let- 
ter, appointing the time of an interview with Cap- 
tain L., of the engineers. 

The long and often bloody war in Java had 
ended with the almost complete subjugation of 
the island. The government contemplated the 
erection of a series of fortifications, to secure this 
magnificent domain against external aggression 
and internal mutiny. To this end, an expedition 



A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 145 

of military engineers was preparing ; and I was 
offered a brevet as officer. 

I well remember the vivid picture which Cap- 
tain L. drew of the promising career — the double 
pay, the double years of service, the higher rank ; 
and I remember, too, the strange feeling of indif- 
ference wherewith I listened to him. Yet I 
seemed to have attained the climax of my early 
ambition. Three faculties had honored me with 
their diplomas. Ten years' university life had 
stored my mind with an extensive range of learn- 
ing. Of the world, I had seen enough to appre- 
ciate its good and evil. I had made numerous 
and influential friends. The very career which, in 
youthful ambition, I contemplated, was thrown 
open under flattering auspices, yet a mere step- 
ping-stone to higher position; for the all-powerful 
governor-general was my relative, and, once in 
Java, the road to speedy promotion in civil em- 
ployment was open — the road to w^ealth and honor. 

I left the friendly captain with mutual feelings 
of esteem. Two months were granted to make 
my decision. But, when that night I rode home 
to my solitary quarters, I was singularly affected. 
It seemed to me as if I had heard those honora- 
ble proposals for another, and not for myself Thus 
it seemed to me. But how it worked in my soul, 
and what I thought, I cannot recollect. One 
thing: I know — the wish of "makinof a career, a 
mark, a fortune, a high position," was no more ac- 
tivCj no more predominant in my mind. Another 

10 



14:6 A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 

thought pre -occupied me absolutely and entirely ; 
and, as far as I can recollect, my God and faith- 
ful Preserver, to whom our hearts are open ! it 
was embodied in two lines, which I remember at 
that time to have written to my mother. I see 
them yet, clear and distinct, as I wrote them ; but 
I do not recollect what preceded and followed : 
^^ If I were a clergyman^ I would go as a missionary 
to India.^^ 

And shall I now regret having yielded to that 
secret voice, and having neglected the bright and 
last occasion of redeeming the fallen fortunes of 
my house ? How should I ? for truly I took no 
counsel with flesh and blood : Thou knowest it. 
That very night, on my knees in my solitary room, 
having read Thy Word, I called with a loud voice 
on Thee, as was my custom. How Thou heardest 
me, I truly have forgotten ; but that Thou heard- 
est me is sure. And, after this, I performed my 
duties with my pupils ; and I remember having 
progressed, that summer, in knowledge of self and 
sin ; but of Captain L. and the engineers, and the 
going to India, ar^d the prospects of wealth and 
honor, there remained nothing but a faint remem- 
brance, as of a thing gone and past. 

Thus the current of my life-thought was changed, 
and now began to run in a channel narrow, deep, 
and working its way through the difficulties of time 
and circumstances. The happy results of my edu- 
cational endeavors, the favorable development of 
my three noble boys, the praise bestowed upon them 



A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 147 

by all who saw them, the love and esteem so fully 
rewarding my faithful labors — all this drew my 
whole attention to the field of education ; and the 
natural turn of my mind to meditation and re- 
search, joined to a disposition loving and affection- 
ate, made me drink deeper and deeper at the Foun- 
tain of Eternal Love. To serve him became an 
earnest wish ; to preach him would have been my 
highest aim. And I truly did what I could, and 
preached him to all around me. Nor did I lose 
my reward ; for I became, as it were, the center 
of a new life, not only in the family where I re- 
sided, but to many who visited them. 

^* Knowledge is power," it has been said ; but 
love is greater power. And I soon perceived that 
I had a lever of great force, and could, with the 
aid of God, apply it to great advantage. The 
Christianizing of the education of the higher 
classes became the subject of my constant medita- 
tion. To form citizens, who, by their influence 
and learning, could stay the current of increasing 
infidelity, and, moving in the highest sphere of 
social life, proclaim the virtue of their Redeemer 
— this seemed to me the noblest work I could 
desire. 

Thus the year 1836 drew to an end. I was, one 
Sunday afternoon, engaged in pleasant discourse 
with the noble family. It was a frosty day, but 
the roomy parlor was cheerful with a blazing fire; 
and my pupils sat around me, listening with atten- 
tion to the subject of our intimate conversation. 



148 A ROYAL AUDIENCE. 

A carriage drove up to the gate, and a note was 
handed me. It was from the Rev. Mr. Secretan, 
the first pastor of the Walloon church in the 
Hague, requesting my immediate presence on mat- 
ters of importance. I arose ; and, whilst taking 
my hat and cloak. Lady Marie said with a moved 
voice, ^'Mr. Leno, I have a foreboding that this is 
going to take you from us." 

''Lady Marie,"said I, extending my hsiiid/^ what 
is to he, is. But it will never take your sons from 
me ; for they are laid up in my heart." 



A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 149 



CHAPTER XIX. 

A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 

The carriage stopped at an humble dwelling near 
the Walloon church. A demure and stately serv- 
ant-woman introduced me to the study, where I 
found Pastor Secretan ensconced in his arm-chair, 
and, pen in hand, perusing the most recent publi- 
cations. 

He was a native from picturesque Lausanne, in 
Switzerland. Short of stature, but robust, his 
features indicated serious meditation, with a mix- 
ture of sensual force sufficient to balance the intel- 
lectual capacity. His voice was deep and sono- 
rous, like far-distant thunder. When, robed in 
the Geneva gown, with deliberate step he entered 
the church, and, after standing a few moments at 
the foot of the pulpit bent in silent prayer, 
ascended the steps Avith the thoughtful weight of 
one who was to speak of immortality; then, ad- 
dressing the crowded and fashionable audience, 
said, in tones deep and guttural, which seemed to 
come from another world, *^ My brethren, let each 
one of us prostrate himself before the throne oi 
God, and make an humble confession of his sins," 
— there was indeed a dignity, an impressiveness, 
which was not lost on the gayest of the noble 
throng. 



150 A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 

But when, after a prayer which gushed, as it 
were, from a well overflowing with the Spirit of 
God, he opened the Scripture, and, having read 
his text, poured forth a stream of eloquence, 
sometimes pathetic and beseeching, sometimes se- 
vere and reproving, until his whole soul, burdened 
with study and knowledge, seemed to burn with 
the fire of inspiration, yet subdued and even trem- 
bling, as in the Divine Presence, then he seemed 
to me the personification of the true preacher. 

And when the long communion-table was spread, 
and rows of hundreds sat down, and he stood in 
the middle distributing the elements to the near- 
est guests, pronouncing slowly the sacramental 
w^ords, and, whilst all partook, uttering short sen- 
tences of humiliation and encouragement, sen- 
tences deep and stirring, reaching the heart of 
each, producing tears and holy resolutions — then, 
I must confess, he seemed to me the personifica- 
tion of the true pastor, reverently feeding the 
flock of the Sovereign Shepherd. 

Such was Pastor Secretan, the leader, at that 
time, of a religious movement in the higher circles 
of the residence. For, with the growth of infi- 
delity in Germany, the deadening influence of 
worldliness in France, and the cold formality of 
the Protestant religion in the Netherlands, God 
had raised a new spirit, strong enough to counter- 
act the seeds of evil. A Christian gentleman from 
Scotland met a few congenial spirits in Geneva ; 
and soon the names of Malan, Merle d'Aubigne, 



A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 151 

Gaussen, Tronchin, and others, became prorainent 
as leaders in the cause of Christ. From Switzer- 
land it spread to Toulouse, in France, and Montau- 
ban ; thence soon reached Paris ; and the three 
brothers, Monod, and Vinet, and Grandpierre, 
were the centers of life-giving Christianity. In 
Germany, the light of true religion had never 
been extino-uished : Neander and Tholuck, and the 
fervent Krummachers, and many others, by their 
writings and preaching, proclaimed the saving 
power of Christ. 

And in the Netherlands, if I remember well, 
the movement began among the higher classes ; 
afterwards it spread, through the instrumentality 
of a Leiden theologian, who boldly broke the 
bonds of formalism, all over the country, mostly 
among the poorer classes. But they adhered with 
obstinate perseverance to the letter of the so-called 
formularies, embodying the creed and practice of 
the ^^ Fathers of the Synod of Dordrecht." The 
movement among the higher classes was more 
" evangelical," more in the spirit of an enlightened 
Christian brotherhood, and drew its life and tenets 
from the new Geneva school. 

It was a stranofe thinof to see chamberlains and 
courtiers, ladies of honor and the dite of aristoc- 
racy, assembling weekly at the dwelling of Pastor 
Secretan, and there, in solemn silence, listening 
for hours to his stirring and awakening exposition 
of Scripture ; and while the hand of persecution 
was raised against the poor, and gatherings of 



152 A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 

more than nineteen persons dispersed, and fines 
imposed, and scanty furniture sold to pay them, 
the aristocratical meetings in the residence were 
allowed ! 

Pastor Secretan received me in a friendly man- 
ner, as one whose serious disposition he knew; and 
at once opened the subject of my visit. In those 
days — it may be different now — public instruction 
in the Northern Netherlands was singularly de- 
fective. The only public schools, besides the pri- 
mary schools for poorer classes, were the Latin 
gymnasiums, where, beside the ancient languages, 
little else was taught : so that a liberal education, 
including modern languages, sciences and arts, 
could not be obtained except in private institu- 
tions. In several cities, and, among others, in the 
residence, the city government had established 
schools to supply this deficiency. The director of 
the Industrial School in the Haofue had resimed. 
His place was offered to me. 

" The appointments are liberal," said Pastor S., 
" but the sphere of usefulness is greater than any 
I can think of. For it will be easy to give a better 
direction to the whole, and to Christianize, as it 
were, an institution where hundreds of the middle, 
and many of the higher class, who wish no univer- 
sity career, receive their education." 

It was a large, and, in many respects, inviting, 
field of action. I could not but acknowledge it. 
Such an appointment would place me at once in 
an independent position, with the means at my 



A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 153 

disposal to carry out my views. Thus it seemed 
to me ; and, asking time for consideration, I left 
Pastor Secretan not without a feeling of relief 
when I was again rolling on the road. I always 
disliked " cliques," and the secret workings of 
party spirit. Was it because I felt something of 
the kind ? I do not know. It was late when I 
returned to Rivulet Mansion, and found the baron 
and Lady Marie awaiting my arrival. The baron 
was astonished and thoughtful. Lady Marie's face 
expressed anxiety and apprehension. 

" And our boys ?" she asked. 

There was a painful silence. I reached her my 
hand, and went to my room. I was perplexed, 
more than I can now conceive, yet believed, as I 
do still, in a special Providence. I had once re- 
jected what was, as it were, laid at my door : I 
did it then, after prayer and supplication, because 
it seemed at war with my internal calling. But 
now, unasked and unsought, a position w^as offered, 
honorable and useful, and, as it were, the first step 
to what I had in view. Should I reject this also ? 
Would it not be tempting Providence ? 

There was yet another consideration. The 
resigning director had a numerous boarding- 
school of young men of the best families. Being a 
particular friend of Pastor Secretan, he promised to 
manage it so that I could take the whole school 
off his hands ; and when I objected my single es- 
tate as a serious hindrance to such an arrange- 
ment, Pastor Secretan said, " I have thought of that. 



154 A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 

But you have a mother, whose authority and ex- 
perience would be more than a compensation. She 
might, perhaps, be willing to remit her establish- 
ment to your sister, and to aid you in this useful 
work." 

I doubted it. But I resolved to ask this as an- 
other sign from Providence, and wrote to my 
mother. With her usual promptness of decision, 
she answered by returning mail, " that she was 
ready ! " 

Then, in my perplexity, I wrote to the cheva- 
lier, and asked his advice. " It is not a govern- 
ment office," said he, '' and therefore I would re- 
ject it. And, in your mother's co-operation, I 
foresee great difficulty. I know you both as 
highly sensitive." 

He knew me truly, the worthy chevalier ! And 
the event proved but too well that he had rightly 
judged. 

Meanwhile, we returned to the residence. I 
saw Pastor Secretan oftener. I had an interview 
with the director. I saw his house and school. I 
was slower to decide than my mother ; and in 
the month of December, having taken dinner wnth 
the baron and Lady Marie, I took his hand and 
said : 

" Sir, I have decided. I refuse the offered po- 
sition. I remain with your sons. The only thing 
I ask is your aid in forming an institution wherein 
they will be my first, my best, my always beloved 
pupils." 



A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 155 

Tears came into his eyes (a father's grateful 
tears are a precious reward for any sacrifice) ; and, 
pressing my hand, he said, '' Thank you ! I thank 
God for it ! From to-morrow I shall go to 
work ! " 

And so he faithfully did, with all the tact and 
discretion of a considerate, noble-hearted friend. 
I wrote a private circular, wherein I stated my 
views with regard to education in general, and a 
full, substantial instruction in particular. I lim- 
ited my number to twelve sons of the noblest 
families. I took the position of conferring a ben- 
efit, rather than that of being benefited. If there 
was some pride in this, there was some truth also. 
For my present position aflforded me far more than 
I needed, with perfect freedom of action, and that 
refinement of associations which is worth more 
than riches ; and, in the position which I was 
ready to assume, I foresaw great care and labor, 
with increase of responsibility, whilst the possible 
pecuniary advantages weighed very little or noth- 
ing in the balance. Money and money matters T 
never liked ; and I stood firm on the basis of my 
good and pure intentions, though sadly misunder- 
stood by those who know that money governs the 
world. They could not conceive of one devoting 
his youth, time and talents to a task so laborious 
and uninviting, with nothing else to spur to action 
but the tvork itself. 

Yet so it was. Thou knowest it, Searcher of 
hearts ! I was not covetous, nor was I ever ambi- 



156 A PASTOR IN THE CAPITAL. 

tious in the sense of th-e world. But Thy truth 
had found a home in my bosom ; and, delighting 
in the sunshine of Thy favor, I wished to draw 
others around me, and mostly children, the sons 
of families whose influence and example might 
advsince Thy kingdom. 

And many, I must say, did understand me, and 
appreciated my purpose. The list of twelve was 
soon made up ; and, strange to say, of these twelve 
there were ^ve the only sons of as many ancient 
families. Bright and lovely boys they were, be- 
tween the ages of eight and ten; and, what was 
best of all, they had been nurtured with pious 
care by godly mothers. To see them was to love 
them ; and there only the teacher's seed can 
thrive where love, having opened the furrows of 
the heart, watches with constant care the growing 
bud. 



WEST-END INSTITUTE. 157 



CHAPTER XX. 

WEST-END INSTITUTE. 

The summer of 1837 would be the last we were 
to spend at Rivulet Mansion ; and Lady Marie, 
with delicate attention, wished to have me near, 
without interfering with my cherished liberty. A 
few yards from the mansion stood a building by 
itself, called the "Orangerie;" which, with wo- 
man's refinement, she had arranged for my use. 
It was a roomy and cheerful dwelling for a student, 
and allowed me to be with the family as much as 
I pleased, without the trouble of Avalking far. 
Many an hour I passed there with my pupils, and 
many a one with Lady Marie, who also had be- 
come my pupil in English. Instead of the trifling 
literature of the day, she had begun a more solid 
course of reading ; and she was willing to make 
any effort to keep pace with the rapid development 
of her sons. As a true mother, she felt a deep in- 
terest in their progress, and the need of furnishing 
a capacious mind, which the world was unable to 
fill. 

Those were happy days, passed in study and 
recreation. My private studies were now exclu- 
sively bent upon theology. I read the Institutes 
of Calvin, and the ponderous volumes of Gomarus, 
and the learned works of the Leyden Professor 



158 WEST-END INSTITUTE. 

Witsius. But what made the deepest impression 
was the Abbe Bautain's " Philosophy of Chris- 
tianity" — a correspondence between himself and 
three Israelitish students, who were converted and 
entered the Boman priesthood. Attending the 
abbe's lectures on Universal History, they had be- 
come attentive to the claims of the Christian re- 
ligion. Before they knew it they were converts ; 
before they knew it their eyes were opened ; and, 
one after another, they addressed themselves by 
letters to the learned and pious professor. Their 
difficulties, their objections, dwindled successively 
away before the clear and forcible exposition of 
Christian doctrine as given in the abbe's answers. 
This correspondence, so natural, so intimate, led to 
their baptism, and finally to their receiving orders. 
The views of Bautain were, it is true, condemned 
by Borne ; but they left a deep impression on my 
mind. For I was confirmed in the opinion, " that 
Christ can be preached by giving a Christian ten- 
dency to secular instruction ; nay, that the Chris- 
tian element is necessary to a full and true and 
complete knowledge." 

And, towards the middle of July, the baron 
made, with his two eldest sons, a trip along the 
Bhine. Their well-informed mind, the fluency 
with which they spoke three modern languages, 
their spirit of observation, and their historical 
knowledge, so available in countries full of tradi- 
tion and ancient monuments — all this commanded 
the admiration of their accidental traveling com- 



WEST-END INSTITUTE. 159 

panions ; and their conscientious adherence to re- 
ceived religious instructions, their youthful hearts 
accustomed to prayer, and reading the Word of 
Life — all this found its way to their parent's heart. 
A letter from the baron, dated from picturesque 
Godesberg, contains so much interesting detail, so 
well shows the progressive influence of the Spirit 
of God, that I give part of it ; thus honoring Thee, 
my Preserver, the Fountain of all goodness ! 
through Whom alone we can do good, and by 
Whom alone we may be encouraged to persever- 
ance : 

** We just now have returned from the ruins, where, in remotest 
antiquity, Woden, thereafter Mercury, and now the only true God, is 
adored. Truly, the history of one such mountain-castle might he 
called the type of that of the whole human race. The word ' type ' 
yet sounds in my ears, from a long conversation with a learned Eng- 
lishman, the author of a remarkable work on Bible history. His mind 
was ours. I say ours: for I wish to give you a hint that my mind ap- 
proaches yours ; and, though I seldom speak of it — for what is the use 
of talking ? — I feel that my path converges more and more towards 
your own belief. 

"Deep and strange was the impression which the children and my- 
self received when visiting the ancient Cathedral of Cologne. It was 
Sunday evening. Notwithstanding the diversion of traveling — and I 
say this with a deep feeling of gratitude — the hoys were devoutly dis- 
posed. The evening service filled the church with kneeling worship- 
pers, incense, and heart-elevating song. They looked at me, then 
again around, and were amazed. Charles was deeply moved, Adolphe 
perplexed. It was truly imposing ; and the solemn impression was, as 
it were by contrast, increased by the stolid incredulity of an English- 
man, who, in answer to a question, said that he believed nothing ! 
And there we saw, as the center of holiness, 'Kaspar,' ' Balthasar,' 
and another one, the Three Kings — at least their skulls — enshrined in 
three millions' worth of gold and jewels ! Oh, what a contrast with 
one idea of those children, brought by you in the path of truth ! 
Thanks for it — thanks ! for never did I feel so deeply the blessing 
therein bestowed. 



160 WEST-END INSTITUTE. 

" These children are most amiable in our journey ; and, could I fear 
false pride in you, I would not tell you, that, of all our fellow-travel- 
ers on board the steamer (and we had quite a choice company), there 
was not one who did not pay me a flattering compliment on their ac- 
count. * In what school, ' they asked, ' are such young children thus 
educated?' However, do not think as if they had to make a show. 
There was no occasion for it ; and, had there been, believe me, work- 
ing in your spirit, I would have prevented it ; but they took part in 
the conversation, were amiable, polite, obliging, occupied themselves, 
asked with interest, and were all to me that I could wish. Once more, 
thanks ! 

" It is with anxiety and fear that I look out for tidings from you. 
Confide ! — I do it for you and for me, and for yours and for mine ; and 
my prayers are with and for you. He who brought you on my path, 
or rather who made your path and mine to meet — He will make all 
things right. Whatever may happen, my grateful friendship is yours. 
Thereon I rely. For I know that now yourself, not less than I and 
my wife, are anxious to accomplish your work in the children com- 
mitted to my responsibility." 

Thus he wrote from Germany, after a day of 
fatiguing travel. And the letters of the boys, in 
purest German, breathed a spirit of thankful love ; 
and, whilst appreciating all they saw, they spoke 
with joyful rapture of our approaching re-union at 
Eivulet Mansion. I was alone during that time ; 
for Lady Marie and Alfred were absent also. And 
in those days of solitude I remember having ap- 
proached nearer to Thee, my God 1 and having 
received the deepest impression of ivhat is sin. 
For truly Thou calledst me, and I saw Thy love and 
goodness ; but myself I did not see, before the mir- 
ror of Thy face became bright enough. And then, 
in that light, I found the spots and stains of my 
soul — yet only few ; and slowly, very slowly. Thy 
Spirit withdrew the curtain. And my own wit 
did not find them out ; but, year after year. Thou 



WEST-END INSTITUTE. 161 

causedst circumstances and events, mistakes and 
errors, grief and disappointment, to sho\t me the 
true state of that immortal being which Thou hadst 
ordained into Thine own image. And what was 
the cause of the baron's *^ fear and anxiety," of his 
*' prayers for me and for him ?" Why did he 
cheer me *^ to confide in Him who would make all 
right ? " 

Truly I do even now love him for that heartfelt 
sympathy with my exalted aim. For though he 
would lose the advantage of my exclusive attention 
to his sons, and of an entire home education, he 
had done all he could to make my plan succeed. 
The parents were awaiting the moment that they 
could place their sons under my especial care. 
There was Count Y. D. Bosch, who had preceded 
General d'Eerens in the government of India ; 
there was the Baroness Fagel, who confided to me 
the only descendant of a long line of statesmen ; 
there was the Countess de Limburg Styrum, who 
was anxious to place in my charge her only son, 
whose father died an untimely death as general 
commander of the cavalry ; and others, who were 
anxious to see a work begun in which they took 
the deepest interest. 

Yet I could not begin ; for I had to obtain the 

permission of the city authorities, and this was 

flatly refused. It was an appropriate revenge for 

my declining the directorship of the Industrial 

School. It was in the spirit of the times — bitter 

against the neiv light in religion. Then there re- 
11 



162 WEST-END INSTITUTE. 

mained nothing but to address the royal majesty ; 
and though Count Y. D. Bosch was himself a 
minister of state, yet nothing could be obtained. 

But the count, exasperated at difficulties, to 
which his Indian government had made him little 
accustomed, one morning said to me, in his usual 
tone of concentrated determination : 

*^ Open the institute, sir, with or without per- 
mission : and, if they dare to meddle with it, we 
shall see who can prevent me from having my son 
educated where and by whom I will." 

Thus matters stood when the baron returned, 
and Lady Marie and the children, and we were 
once more together at the Bivulet Mansion. 

Though prudent and cautious, the baron agreed 
with the count's opinion. ^' Confide," said he ; 
" go to work, and leave the result to God." And 
then I went to Leeuwarden to see my mother, and 
to take with her the necessary measures for her re- 
moval to the Hague. For she was ready to work 
with her son in the task before him ; she was 
ready to give to my institution that tone of refine- 
ment, without which no education of boys can be 
complete ; she was ready to give up her position, 
and to share the risks of my enterprise. And her 
noble appearance, her perfect control of youth, her 
long experience, could not but inspire confidence. 
I returned with her, and she passed some pleasant 
days at Kivulet Mansion. The boys admired her, 
and the baron thought her amiable ; but Lady 
Marie reserved her judgment. With woman's 
tact, she foresaw the coming clouds. 



WEST-END INSTITUTE. 163 

. A large and spacious house was building in 
what is called the West End, at the Hague, re- 
calling by its name the aristocratic quarter of Lon- 
don. It was rented for four years' time, and the 
building modified so as to suit my peculiar views. 
With this and other arrangements, the month of 
November approached. The fifteenth was fixed for 
the day of opening ; and, in the beginning of the 
month, we all took leave of sweet and picturesque 
Rivulet Mansion. For two days more I was a 
guest at the baron's house. And then came the 
moment of leaving. Our last year's intercourse 
had been so intimate, our feelings had become so 
harmonious, that to separate, as it were, my ex- 
istence from theirs, seemed hard and painful. 

I well remember how Lady Marie stood in the 
hall, and the children around. I well remember 
the deep emotion wherewith she extended to me 
her hand, and said, " Mr. Leno, your time of 
struggle has come ; but you have true friends in 
us." I well remember how Charles looked seri- 
ous, Adolphe perplexed, and Alfred smiled, when 
I said, "Adieu, dear boys ! The love I have for 
you must henceforth extend to others besides your- 
selves. But love has no measure ; and, if you 
can be no more my only pupils, you will always 
be, I am sure, my first and my best." I well re- 
member how I left the hall, and heard the door 
closed after me, and went my way to my own 
house. And the thoughts which occupied my 
mind I remember — the new responsibility which I 



164 WEST-END INSTITUTE. 

was about to undertake, the high expectations of 
so many anxious parents, the new position wherein 
I stood with regard to a criticising public, the op- 
position I had to expect from certain quarters. 
Then, again, I was conscious of the purity of my 
motives. The smallest act would be an offering. 
These children I would love as I loved my three 
boys ; and their love, which I was sure to gain, 
would be my recompense. These were. Thou 
knowest it, O God! my thoughts, when that night 
I walked silently to my new home, where, during 
four years' time, I should work much and suffer 
much and learn much. 

And, that same night, I called the inmates of 
my house together, and, having read Thy Word, 
knelt down, and invoked Thy blessing upon the 
house, and the work therein to do, and its present 
and future inmates. And this was the first time 
that I knelt in prayer with my dear mother since 
the day that she taught me, when a little boy of 
six, the prayer of the Lord. 

She arose in tears ; and, giving me her hand, 
she said, *' Thou hast prayed well : I could not do 
it so." And I felt humbled before my mother, 
and a nameless foreboding crossed my mind. But 
I embraced her as a son who, since his childhood, 
has been weaned of so great a blessing, and said, 
a j^ great, a good work is before us, mother ; and 
God has kindly brought us together for its per- 
formance." 

A sigh was all her answer. 



WEST-END INSTITUTE. 165 

The following day the parents came, conducting 
their precious deposits ; and the assistant teacher 
came from England ; and there was great bustle 
and moving and arranging until the school was in 
fair operation. A few days later, the minister of 
the interior department came to see the baron, and 
said, ^^ It is all right ; the king has instructed the 
citv authorities to let West End alone,'' 



166 A CLOUD. 



CHAPTEE XXI. 

A CLOUD. 

No institution was ever begun under more favor- 
able auspices than that of the ''West End." With 
the zeal of enthusiasm, strengthened by the pow- 
erful impulse of religious principle, I soon became 
for my new pupils what I had some four years 
been to the sons of the baron. I was always with 
them. From the time of morning prayers, where 
every living soul in the house assisted, to that of 
evening worship, when all were once more gath- 
ered, I was with them. In their studies, in their 
plays, I was with them. For soon I loved them ; 
and love makes all things easy. 

Oh, sweet remembrance of time usefully passed, 
when no minute was begrudged, and the work 
seemed pleasure, because it was a work of love, 
and I could say^ " The more of it, the better! " 

I had pupils of all ages, from eight to fourteen. 
Differing in temper and progress, I wished to unite 
them, and to create amongst them a certain esprit 
de corps. And I adopted a plan, which, to this 
day, I esteem the best, where many boys are gath- 
ered. I contrived to make them ask my permission 
to form a little company of soldiers. They had 
their chief, their sergeants, their drummer. They 
had their chasseurs' uniform, and gun, and knap- 



A CLOUD. 167 

sack. They had their daily roll-call, drill, and re- 
ports. They had their days for shooting at the 
target ; the younger ones with bow and arrow, the 
older ones with gun and shot. They had their 
punishment for breach of discipline, and their sol- 
emn court-martial for graver offences. Truly, the 
child is father to the man ; and I have often, very 
often, admired the sense of justice and decorum 
manifested even by the youngest. And, to this 
day, I remember the deep impression made when 
once I disbanded the company. The little soldiers, 
with serious mien, knowing what w^as to come, 
donned their uniforms and knapsacks, and should- 
ered their guns. They fell in their ranks — the 
last and youngest a bright little fellow, with 
smiling face. Then I said seriously, without ef- 
fort, for I did feel sorry, "Young gentlemen, there 
have been strife and discord amongst you : I feel 
obliged to disband you." And Adolphe, who was 
the chief, with characteristic energy commanded, 
" Shoulder arms ! present arms ! right and left, 
fall out ! " And I shall never forget the sorrowful 
mien w^herewith they stripped themselves of their 
uniform, and placed their muskets on the rack ; 
nor the dreary quietness which pervaded the whole 
school during three days. They could stand it no 
longer. They signed a petition in due form, 
promising better things, and asking to be restored ; 
and I gi^avely signed my consent, and from my 
study could hear the joyful shout with which it 
was received. 



168 A CLOUD. 

And, when the ice threw its glassy sheet over 
the thickening waters, each had his pair of swift- 
gliding skates ; and off we went on long or short 
excursions. Or on the extensive ponds, in the 
magnificent '* Wood Park," they used to show 
their expertness to the throng of aristocracy enjoy- 
ing the gay and joyful scenery. 

But the study-hours were many and long, yet 
never wearisome. Three hours began the morning 
work, devoted to Latin, Greek, and mathematics. 
Then came a slight repast, with two hours' play, 
or walk, or exercise. The next were two hours of 
lighter occupation, given to modern, languages, to 
drawing after bust or model, the construction of 
geographical maps or tables of history, and to the 
sweet melody of vocal music ; and when dinner 
was over, where pleasant conversation and the oc- 
casional presence of a guest prevented the sin and 
evil of greediness or surfeit, a little play at shuttle- 
cock or a walk in the garden prepared for the 
evening studies. Then I gave my lessons of gen- 
eral interest on Bible history or universal gram- 
mar, and the art of composing, and bringing into 
written form, what the mind had first conceived. 
They all were wide awake : for children of all ages 
love the picture-gallery of God's holy Word ; they 
all delight in the progressive development of their 
thoughts ; they all enjoy the faculty of rightly ex- 
pressing what their mind has fully grasped. 

But the happiest hours were those of Friday 
evening. In the large parlor they all gathered 



A CLOUD. 169 

together, each bringing his portfolio and drawing 
materials ; and at the extensive table they took 
their seats, and began to sketch and work with in- 
dustry in deepest silence. For I sat at the head 
of the table, the Word of God before me, and read 
aloud the touching histories of patriarchal times 
and judges, kings and prophets ; and now and then 
I explained, and asked a question ; and sometimes 
I made a pause, and went round inspecting their 
designs, correcting and advising. But, at the ap- 
pointed hour, the portfolios were closed, the house- 
hold came in, the chapter of the evening was read, 
and explained to children's capacity; when all 
stood up, and sang one of the touching " chants de 
Sion ;^^ then knelt, and in prayer I commended 
them to Thee, my God ! for at that time I had 
no bitterness, and I could easily give what I so 
abundantly received. 

Thus we lived and studied : and if my life was 
one of constant care and occupation, if none but 
the few hours of sleep were hours of rest, and even 
those disturbed by severe cough, I did not feel it ; 
for I soon loved all those boys as truly as I did my 
former pupils. They were bright and gentle ; and 
my unreserved sacrifice to their welfare soon kin- 
dled in their unsophisticated hearts the soft, burn- 
inof flame of true affection. 

There was but one whose violence of temper 
for a long time baffled all my efforts. The only son 
of a noble countess, he inherited from his military 
father an indomitable spirit, which bade defiance 



170 A CLOUD. 

to all rule and discipline. He was the only child 
whom ever I have been obliofed to chastise in the 
scriptural sense of the word. But I did it delib- 
erately, and with unflinching severity, gathering 
strength from deep conviction of duty. When he 
saw my perseverance, and the grief and sorrow 
which struggled in my bosom ; when, week after 
week, I had to go through the terrible ordeal — he 
perceived my extreme love in my extreme sever- 
ity. And he loved me more than any pupil ever 
did ; his heart clung to me with all the earnest- 
ness of gratitude ; and when, six years thereafter, 
I departed for America, with heart-rending sorrow 
he hung on my neck, weeping bitter tears. On 
board the vessel I received his last farewell letter, 
wherein he said, '^ I cannot express my feelings 
when remembering all the blessings and all the 
care which I enjoyed during the long years passed 
with you ; and sometimes I remember with glad- 
ness that you never punished me hut justly. I have 
often thought of you, nor do I forget you in my 
prayers. But I feel I am yet far from God ; for 
I do not love to pray, yet have I a secret desire of 
being converted. What must I do ? " And what 
I answered him, or if I answered him, I do not 
know ; for soon the SAvift-sailing vessel was steer- 
ing to the West. But this I know, that my dear, 
dear William Trip, the boy whom I loved best, the 
countess's son, and godson of the king, is now an 
humble, faithful minister of Him whom then he 
sought. 



A CLOUD. 171 

And, whilst those children gave me a daily re- 
ward by their affection and progress, the parents 
did not less to encourage the man who, they felt, 
devoted heart and life to their dearest hopes and 
expectations. Their visits and those of their 
friends and relations were assiduous. Our class- 
rooms were seldom without these intelligent, ap- 
preciating witnesses ; and our evening lessons 
were frequently enlivened by the presence of 
mothers, who fully entered into my plan of in- 
struction. But the sweet Friday evenings were a 
chief center of attraction ; and some made it a 
habit of coming regularly. 

Thus I worked ; and '^ West-End Institute," 
under especial royal protection, became the praise 
of many, and the stumbling-block of some ; for 
where there is success, there is, by the natural im- 
pulse of the human heart, a sort of jealousy. We 
generally wish only well to that which is our own, 
or under our own direct or indirect protection — to 
that which is more or less identified with ourselves, 
even in remote degree. What is not so, we are 
disposed to treat with indifference, or, at the 
slightest occasion, with hostile feeling. Such is 
man, even in this showing the original of a divine 
pattern, but defaced. For Thou, perfect Love ! 
wishest well to all men, because they are all Thy 
workmanship, and are related to Thee, even the 
most erring, as creatures to their Creator, 

And I myself- — I loved this work, perhaps, too 
mucli, as my own. Perhaps the love of these 



172 A CLOUD. 

children, and the praise of the parents, and the es- 
teem of men, made me too secure ; and I gave 
less attention to the feelings of others, and courted 
less the approval of others, and thus made a breach 
of charity. Truly, my God ! thy Word has 
said, ^^The heart of man is deceitful in all its 
ways." Twenty years have passed, and humbling 
sorrow and affliction have chastened me ; and. 
Thou knowest it, I have often tried^to find out the 
secret workings of my heart ; and I know it was 
then pure and true before Thee, as much as we can 
be before the only true and holy One; but I verily 
think I was too secure; and confiding in Thee, and 
in the honesty of my purpose, which was a virtue, 
I neglected my fellow-beings and their influence, 
which was an evil. 

Pastor Secretan, who was ready to exert so great 
an influence in the ^^ Industrial-School" affair, had 
little or none in " West-End Institute ;" and the 
party of which he was the leader, and which in- 
cluded some of the most influential families, and, 
among others, the Baroness Fagel, whose son was 
one of my pupils, looked upon me as a natural 
"exponent" of their views. 

I called Pastor Secretan the leader of that party. 
I was perhaps wrong. He was the spiritual direc- 
tor and adviser — the " oracle," so to say ; but he 
who gave position and authority to the party, who 
brought it in connection with politics, was the 
Counselor of State, Baron Groen Van Prinsterer. 
He was a man of singular abilities, a most accom- 



A CLOUD. 173 

plished scholar, a sound and thoughtful writer, a 
strong adherent of the reigning dynasty, a thorough 
champion of the " divine right of kings," a deep 
and uncompromising Calvinist, and therefore a de- 
termined friend or foe. 

But following the advice of the baron and of 
Lady Marie, and not less the dictates of my own 
rather independent spirit, I avoided the very sem- 
blance of party tendency. My happy Friday 
evenings took the place of the Friday "meetings" 
at Pastor S.'s : my whole arrangements were, per- 
haps, in opposition to some of their more " precise " 
views ; and, except the natural parochial relations, 
I gently repelled some endeavors to bring " West- 
End Institute " under the real or ostensible influ- 
ence of Pastor S. Yet, with all this care, in two 
instances I accepted their advice and aid ; and, to 
this day, I must regret it. 

My only help to assist me in the arduous task 
was an English gentleman. He came highly 
recommended by one in whom I placed unbounded 
confidence. He was able, but eccentric ; and 
what I sought first of all, what was so indispensa- 
ble in conducting the work as I understood it — a 
heart wherein the Spirit of God w^as stirring — I 
did not find. It marred his influence, it destroyed 
his usefulness ; and, after three months' trial, I 
gave it up, and said, " Let us part in peace. The 
work we have before us requires another disposi- 
tion. Let us part in peace." In this I acted with 
the advice of the counselor, who Avas peremptory 



174 A CLOUD. 

in all things. Keluctantly he went ; and, whilst 
the counselor and Pastor S. took upon themselves 
to seek in Switzerland a proper aid, I remained 
alone, and worked beyond my strength. 

For in instruction and general guidance my 
noble mother could not assist me. Her health 
was feeble, her nervous system highly irritable. 
She truly loved me, and had looked forward to her 
new position with all the joy of one who feels the 
need of " busy rest." 

^^ My heart is lighter," thus wrote she once, 
" at the thought that, living with you, my soul 
will receive more life. I shall not always have to 
give — always to give : I, too, shall receive salu- 
tary impressions." 

And in another letter, "Yes, my well-beloved 
son, I wish to devote to you those years of my 
life, wherein, whilst being useful to you, I may 
enjoy the happiness of daily intercourse. I am 
very decided upon that subject. Daily I pray the 
Lord to bring us together, and to bless your noble 
undertaking. I shall do all in my power to be- 
come identified with my new duties. I shall know 
how to learn ; and the very thought of making 
your home more agreeable awakens my soul, and 
renews life to my senses." 

Thus wrote my dear mother ; and she meant all 
she said ; for she was noble, and a lover of truth. 
For a time I was happy and proud : happy in hav- 
ing the society, experience and aid of one in whom 
there was so much to love and to admire ; proud 



A CLOUD. 175 

in being enabled to maintain in my interior ar- 
rangements the spirit of refinement and decorum 
which made a home of my institute, and a 
Christian home, completely answering the dream 
of my life. 

But often, when, after a day's heavy work, I 
sat down in the cheerful family room, and ex- 
pressed my heartfelt satisfaction, my gladness, at 
unhoped success, I was answered with a sigh, a 
silent sigh, which checked the happy current of 
my feelings; and when friends came to see my 
mother, friends who had not approved her reso- 
lution, I perceived a cold restraint, a feeling of 
uneasiness. 

And I have a sad, very sad remembrance of 
some days. But, on the day of my twenty-seventh 
anniversary, I made my customary walk with my 
pupils. It was a gray and gloomy afternoon. I 
remember each step, each barren tree, each snowy 
pathway ; for my heart was heavy, and my oldest 
pupils walked by my side. And at dinner I sat 
down alone, as I had done two days before ; and, 
when that night I went to bed, I was afraid and 
tremblinpf. 

But, in the early morning, I heard a carriage 
stopping at the gate. The coach-door was opened, 
and as soon closed again, and the coach, drove off 
at a rapid pace. And, when I came down, I found 
that I was left alone. 



176 SUNSHINE. 



CHAPTEE XXII. 

SUNSHINE. 

Thus was the prediction of the chevalier ful- 
filled. The so newly erected building of my hope 
received a terrible shock. For those who were un- 
favorable to my enterprise drew the conclusion 
that a son who did not honor his mother could not 
rightly educate the sons of others ; and those who 
were worldly-minded were glad to say that my re- 
ligion was an external garb. Those were days of 
unutterable sorrow. My heart seemed one wound. 
But I went on with my work as well as I could, 
though I felt languid and amazed ; for I was not 
yet accustomed to be the subject of public talk ; 
and to defend myself seemed to bring on an accu- 
sation. 

Then it was that the baron rendered me the 
service of a true and prudent friend. Wherever 
an accusing voice was uttered, he went in person, 
and spoke from personal knowledge : and thus, by 
degrees, he rectified public opinion. For, during 
four years, he knew me intimately, with all the 
good and evil there was in me. My SAveet sister, 
also, whilst devoted to my mother, equally loved 
me, and did not fail to rectify erroneous judgments; 
and my own dear mother perceived, but too late, 
the harm she did, and wrote : 



SUNSHINE. 177 

" My heart is sad, when thinking that I am far 
from my two children, whom I love. Oh, why 
did my health, affected by a life full of trials, pre- 
vent me from being for you what I so much de- 
sired ? Had a change, so great at my age, not in- 
fluenced my manner of seeing and appreciating 
things, perhaps I should yet be there. This I re- 
peat to myself every moment. Oh 1 do not ac- 
cuse yourself" 

Thus she wrote in answer to my sorrowful let- 
ters, for she loved me truly ; and six years there- 
after, when sixty-four years of age, she crossed the 
ocean to live with me, and, after three years, de- 
parted in my arms, with blessing. 

The storm passed, but left me weary and lonely. 
With an effort I resumed the daily routine, and 
with even more concentration of force than before. 
For now my pupils were my all ; and though 
many well-meaning parents advised me to seek a 
companion, who might share my labors, and re- 
store to me the sweetness of family life, all my 
thoughts, my energies, my efforts were bent upon 
one thing — the complete success of my institute, 
the realization of my theory of education and in- 
struction. 

And I did succeed. My former pupils, stimu- 
lated by the additional power of emulation, worked 
hard and well, and did me honor; and the younger 
ones, without exception, answered fully my en- 
deavors. The only thing I needed was an aid, 
capable to enter into the spirit, not only of the 

12 



178 SUNSHINE. 

moral, but also of the intellectual and social train- 
ing. And, through the endeavors of Pastor Secre- 
tan, there came a young man from Switzerland to 
assist me. But I soon found that he needed in- 
struction himself; and I cheerfully gave it him, 
and treated him as a brother. He was simple, and 
of narrow capacity, but had an under-current of 
cunning shrewdness, which afterwards gave me 
much trouble. 

At the counselor's recommendation, I received 
a matron, to be at the head of domestic affairs. 
She was a thorough housekeeper, but worldly- 
minded, and with a spirit of intrigue which I did 
not understand. For I w^as inclined to take peo- 
ple as they appeared, and had not learned the art 
of governing; which chiefly consists in "using the 
good qualities of men, and guarding against their 
evil ones." 

I had now been obliged to increase the number 
of my pupils, and fifteen noble boys were gathered 
in my fold. When the month of June drew to an 
end, I appointed a day for examination, to which 
the parents and their numerous friends were in- 
vited. The thought of "preparing" for an exam- 
ination never entered my mind ; for my pupils 
had been " preparing" all the time. It was a re- 
view lesson, intended to show not only their indi- 
vidual progress, but the whole system of instruc- 
tion. 

Many were the noble ladies and friends who, 
on the last day of June, thronged the study hall ; 



SUNSHINE. 179 

and when my boys came in with all the confidence 
of "doing well," because they had implicit confi- 
dence in their guide, my heart, I must confess, 
beat high. I felt one with them, and as a supe- 
rior link between them and their parents. Like 
every morning lesson, I opened this with prayer. 
Then came the review of our Bible reading ; and 
the little son of Count Van den Bosch, a beautiful 
boy, narrating with lively precision the " w^ander- 
ings of tjie Israelites in the desert," I took occasion 
to remark how this life is the desert throuofh which 
we travel to gain a heavenly Canaan; and I heard 
the aged count repeating with deep conviction, 
^' True, very true!'' 

Then, while the higher classes reviewed their 
mathematical and physical studies, the younger 
ones wrote a composition in French, which they 
handed to their parents, as a remembrance of the 
day. This took two hours. Now came an hour 
of rest and of great surprise. For, after a few 
moments, the drum was heard, and the word of 
command, and the clash of guns, and the little 
troop marched proudly and firmly to the play- 
ground ; and, having shown their expertness in 
drill, knapsack and gun disappeared ; and, in a 
moment, they were running the swinging-pole, 
balancing in the horizontal bars, climbing the 
ropes, and racing and jumping, until the drum 
recalled them to the ranks, and the study-bell to 
the hall. 

Then an hour was given to review the younger 



180 SUNSHINE. 

ones in German, and history, and geography ; 
whilst the older class solved an algebraical prob- 
lem, and made a German composition, which they 
handed to their parents. And the last hour Avas 
given to Greek and Latin, whilst the younger 
ones exercised their skill in rectilinear drawing. 
It was all natural, because they did what they 
were accustomed to do. It was a true exponent 
of their instruction and progress. It was a day of 
satisfaction for the parents, of pleasure for the 
pupils, and of honor for myself. It was a happy 
day. 

After dinner, my delighted pupils made a long 
walk with me along the sea- shore, talking and 
laughing, and laying out plans for the six- weeks' 
vacation. And when, towards dark, we came 
home, we assembled for prayers ; and, having 
blessed them, we separated, to meet again on the 
sixteenth of August. 

But I began to prepare for a journey to Ger- 
many and Switzerland ; for my health had suffered 
by continual exertion, and I wished to see the best 
establishments for education, and to learn by seeing 
and comparing. This had been a cherished plan, 
once slightly alluded to in a conversation with the 
Dowager Boreel, the grandmother of one of my 
pupils; and whilst one day I was regretting that 
perhaps I should have to give it up, as the ex- 
penses of a new establishment were great and 
many, a letter was laid on my table, containing five 
hundred dollars in bank-notes ! But the letter 



SUNSHINE. 181 

itself was of far more worth ; for the venerable and 
noble lady pressed, in kind and sympathizing words, 
the necessity of a journey for the restoration of my 
health, and its usefulness for the extension of my 
knowledge and experience. She feared there 
might be an obstacle, which she was happy to be 
able to remove. 

"Allow me, sir," thus she ended, "to beg of 
you to accept the inclosed bank-notes, as a mark 
of my esteem, and of the interest I take in an 
establishment, which, under God's blessing, must 
have such happy results for the precious chil- 
dren confided to your care. Is it necessary to 
add, that, amongst them, there is one who is very 
dear to me ?" 



182 GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 



CHAPTEE XXIII. 

GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 

As soon as the steamer had carried me to the 
Prussian frontier, I took the stage to Bonn, where 
I had letters of recommendation. It is a cheerful 
city, with its shady walks, and pleasant vineyards, 
and its sociable inhabitants. I found the tone of 
the students far more refined than it is usually, 
and soon perceived that it was owing to their fre- 
quent intercourse with the many agreeable fami- 
lies residing in the place and neighborhood. Pro- 
fessor Nietsch was, at that time, the soul and life 
of the evangelical movement in Phenish Prussia ; 
a learned man, with childlike simplicity. He 
made me acquainted with Mr. Thormann, a Ber- 
nese patrician exiled from his country. With his 
accomplished wife, he had succeeded in establish- 
ing a most excellent institute for young ladies. Of 
all the institutions I have seen, this came nearest 
to my ideal of Christian home-life, joined to exten- 
sive solid instruction. 

I spent there happy days. I found congenial- 
ity in aim and purpose ; and their accomplished 
daughters charmed me with their unsophisticated 
simplicity. But soon the steamer carried me up 
the panorama of the Phine to Coblentz, with its 
impregnable fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, in name 



GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 183 

as forbidding as in aspect; and thence to ^'golden" 
Mentz, the pride of Germans. The much -praised 
Khine I thoiiofht tedious, the many castles monot- 
onous, the names harsh ; and I was glad when I 
was rolling in a carriage along the pleasant road 
to rich and thriving Frankfort. 

An elderly gentleman, a respectable merchant 
from Elberfeld, had offered himself as my compan- 
ion throuofh Germany to Schaffhausen. He bore 
the forbiddinof name of Wolf, but was better than 
his name ; for a meeker Christian I never met ; 
and though I prized independency above all 
things, not least when traveling, I accepted his 
proposal. 

From Frankfort we journeyed over Darmstadt 
to Heidelberg. In Darmstadt we took our break- 
fast in a most delightful garden. I well remem- 
ber the inscription over the entrance. It was 
characteristic of German feeling, and struck me 
by its touching simplicity : " The flower speaks : 
* Oh ! look at me, but do not cull me ! For life so 
beautiful and short hast God, and not thou, given 
me. 

The whole road was lined with apple and pear 
and walnut trees ; and the wayfaring man was 
welcome to all. But here and there I observed 
a small bundle of straw suspended to the trunk. 
When I asked what it meant, the coachman said, 
" Those are a few trees which the owners reserve 
to their own use." 

I was struck with the number of children which 



184 GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 

I saw in the villages and towns. But their be- 
havior astonished me more than their numbers ; 
for I never saw them play boisterous games, but 
they mostly conversed peacefully together : or, to- 
ward evening, they were sitting in groups before 
their humble, but neat and tasteful, dwellings, and 
joined in sweetest choral harmony. 

I lingered more than two hours among the in- 
teresting ruins of the Castle of Heidelberg, which 
they began to build in 1300, and which was burnt 
in the last century. But what pleased me most 
was the delightful garden, with its magnificent 
cherries, whose fame is spread far and wide. The 
students here seemed less refined than those of 
Bonn. I was shown the house, on the other side 
of the gentle-streaming Neckar, where they daily 
met to fight their ruthless duels ; and many were 
the handsome faces disfigured by an ugly sabre 
stroke. 

From Heidelberg we went over sweet and flow- 
ery Heilbrunn to Stuttgart, Avith its broad and 
regular streets ; and thence, through a country as 
picturesque as artist can desire, we arrived at Tu- 
bingen. The tone of the students here seemed 
even more rough than at Heidelberg. They 
avoided all intercourse with ladies, but in their 
studies were said to be superior. Allowing a per- 
fect freedom in manner and method, the faculties 
observed an unflinching severity in examination 
and discipline. 

And now we left what has been called the gar- 



GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 185 

den of Germany, with its varied scenery, its many 
and populous villages, its thrifty, honest and re- 
fined inhabitants ; a land of song and music, of so- 
cial habits and pleasant iutercourse. We took our 
journey through rough and mountainous Suabia, 
stepped over the Danube near its source, and 
reached ancient Schaffhausen, with its irregular 
streets, its numerous fountains and curious houses, 
painted with image of knight or saint. Here my 
worthy companion left me for St. Gallen, on the 
beautiful Lake of Constance ; and I went in an 
opposite direction, on the road to Zurich. 

Everything assumed a smaller scale, except the 
works of God. No more domains of princes and 
dukes ; no more castles with long-sounding names, 
the cradles of many a sovereign house ; but the 
scanty soil divided among many, and those the 
hard-working, sturdy mountaineers. The lordly 
parks dwindled away into modest farms and hum- 
ble sheepfolds, the stately mansions into thatched 
cottages and solitary chalets. But in the distance 
loomed the bold and rugged outline of the Berner 
Oberland ; and far above in the deep azure, here 
and there,' some sharp and pointed cloudlike spots 
attracted my attention. They did not niove or 
change. " What can it be ? "said I to the coach- 
man, whose seat I occupied. '^ Are they clouds ? 
What are they ? " And, pointing with his whip, 
the sturdy Swiss, in broad and guttural tones, 
gave me the full benefit of his knowledge : " The 
Jungfrau, the Wedderhorn, the Finster Aarhorn, 
the Schreckhorn," etc. 



186 GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 

And I remember that I was filled with. awe. 
They stood at more than a hundred miles of dis- 
tance, the silent witnesses of the Power which 
heaved them up from the bosom of a convulsed 
globe. In their needle-shaped form and ghastly 
hue, they appeared to me as gigantic hieroglyphics 
impressed on the dark-blue sky. 

In Zurich I had a pressing letter of commenda- 
tion to the Baron Meyer de Knonau, a type of 
Swiss aristocracy. Highly educated, refined, and 
obliging, he received me Avith kindness. He in- 
troduced me to the Reading Cabinet, a beautiful 
locality ; ^' but only for the nobility, ^^ as he re- 
marked with stately reserve. It sounded strange 
to me in republican Switzerland. 

Then he took me to the Institute for the Deaf 
and Dumb, combined with that for the Blind. 
We found the director engaged in teaching one of 
the first. He was from Wurtemberg ; a hand- 
some man of about thirty, whose countenance 
beamed with affectionate goodness and intelligent 
benevolence. They used no finger-language : all 
communications were made by the distinct inflec- 
tion of mouth and lips. Most wonderful to see 
them speak together without a sound, but moving 
their lips as if speaking with particular distinct- 
ness ! I spoke thus to some, not uttering a voice, 
but merely moving my lips as if speaking in an 
^' earnest " whisper. They answered me readily 
and well. 

The director showed me the nirith volume of a 



GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 187 

diary kept by one of those deaf and dumb (then 
fifteen years of age), most beautifully written, and 
admirably composed. I find in my notes of that 
day, '^ How very, very glad I should be to see the 
oldest of my pupils perform such a work ! " 

In another locality were the blind, both boys 
and girls. I heard them sing a piece composed by 
one of them, and set to music by another ; and, 
whilst I was yet entranced by the impressive 
melody, they began a chorus which drew tears 
from not only me, but even from those who were 
their daily attendants. The musical talent of 
some was wonderful : they could immediately 
name all the sounds of a piano-accord of fiYe, six, 
and seven notes. 

I left this institute, more than ever convinced of 
the little I did myself, and almost ashamed of 
having undertaken that little. 

It would be difficult to surpass the Baron Meyer 
in kind regard toward a stranger ; and others, to 
whom I had letters of introduction, showed me 
like attention. But soon I was on the road to 
Berne, the nominal capital of the Helvetian He- 
public ; a beautiful city, round which the Aar 
streams with rapid course, with high and well- 
built houses, an endless number of balconies, and 
handsome-arched sidewalks. I thought the Ber- 
nese costume very pretty, the women handsome, 
but the language harsh and disagreeable. 

An introduction to Baron de Frieshing ojDened 
to me not only his own hospitable house, but all 



188 GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 

that I could wish to see. My chief desire was to 
be at Hofwyl, the institute of the celebrated Fel- 
lenberg. Himself of noble family, the enthusiasm 
of philanthropy had sustained him in his long and 
strenuous efforts to improve the public education 
of all classes. I found him a venerable gray- 
haired man, erect and dignified, yet with a mixture 
of benevolent humor. Evidently pleased to meet 
a man, who, in the task of education, saw more 
than a matter of business, he charged his son 
with the care of showing me through the estab- 
lishment. 

It was a little village by itself There was the 
institute for the higher classes ; a noble, spacious 
building of three stories, with about sixty pupils. 
The arrangements for studies, bathing, swimming, 
gymnastics, etc., were most complete. At a dis- 
tance was the building for the middle classes, with 
some hundred and fifty pupils ; and, farther off, 
the institute for the poor, with its various shops of 
carpenters, blacksmiths, etc. Some were educated 
as agriculturists, and the extensive grounds were 
intrusted to their care. 

There was not a teacher or usher who had not 
been educated at Hofwyl. The whole was like a 
vast machine, one part supporting the other ; yet 
I could perceive the traces of decay. And I 
thought that the cause was the absence of positive 
truth ; that it- was more the embodiment of one 
man's individual idea than the spontaneous growth 
of a life-giving principle. 



GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 189 

For when I returned to the venerable orimnator 
of this vast undertakmg, I found him full of enthu- 
siasm with ^' eternal ideas;" but an humble reli- 
ance on revealed truth I did not find. He showed 
me the Oratory, where, every Sunday, he lectured 
to his pupils ; and, when I asked him what were 
mostly his subjects, he answered with the glow of 
enthusiasm, ^^ The eternal ideas which are im- 
planted in our nature ! " 

I left Hofwyl with thanks for received atten- 
tion, but also wdth a deep feeling of disappointed 
expectation. 

From Berne, the stage took me over a pleasantly 
varied road to Fribourg, with its magnificent sus- 
pension-bridge. There all spoke French, and I 
was glad ; for the Swiss sounds harsh and rough. 
It was midnight when I arrived at Lausanne, 
where I had several letters of introduction of the 
more " spiritual " sort. 

The following day was Sunday ; and I went to 
the Church of St. Frangois, where I heard a very 
good discourse on the touching scene of Kebecca's 
departure, and arrival in the tents of Isaac. The 
subject struck me ; for I must confess that my 
thoughts wandered often in the fields of imagina- 
tion. And I left the church with the unanswered 
question, ''Is there a Rebecca for meV This text 
in after time recurring to my mind, like Professor 
Tydeman's the ivorld wide open, caused me trouble 
and vexation. 



190 IS IT REBECCA? 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

IS IT REBECCA ? 

When, the following day, I was on board the 
steamer, crossing the lake to pleasant and cheerful 
Geneva, my attention was fully taken up by the 
widow of a Moravian minister. She was more 
than handsome — she was interesting; and a cherub- 
like little son of five increased the attraction. Her 
conversation had the sweetness of Christian re- 
finement ; and it was with regret that I took leave 
of her when the steamer stopped at Nyon, where 
she resided. 

Did I think of Rebecca ? I do not remember. 
But the little fellow's sixth birthday was to be on 
the seventh of December. I marked it carefully 
in my note-book, for there I see it yet. It is on 
account of this little memorandum that I mention 
the incident ; for the thoughts which busied me 
when penciling that line have been swept away 
by the rapid course of twenty years, and that 
lovely widow I never more beheld. But my soul, 
when recalling the memories of the past, must 
confess that it became entangled, as it were, in 
the dangers of a fixed idea, as. if I had to seek a 
Rebecca far off; and I called ^i^/i what was indeed 
a lack of faith, seeking instead of waiting, and 
thus weaving a net of difficulties and sorrows 



IS IT REBECCA? 191 

where my path might have been smooth and 
pleasant. For not wilUngly^ my God ! dost 
Thou afflict the children of men, and Thy hand lies 
seldom heavily on them ; but, resisting or fore- 
stalling Thy providence, they make their own 
troubles. And when truly Thine own hand strikes, 
they feel the difference ; for, with the blow. Thou 
sendest the spirit of consolation. 

My first visit in Geneva was to the venerable 
Merle d'Aubigne, to whom I was strongly recom- 
mended by several friends in the Hague. A son 
of the Baron Van Hemert, who had already 
placed two sons at West-End Institute, received 
his first education in d'Aubigne's family. As he 
was to become my pupil, his parents requested me 
to take him in charge on my return. I found him 
an amiable, intelligent boy of thirteen, who proved 
an agreeable companion. 

Merle dAubiofne was a man in the stren^-th of 
manhood, of large proportions, very dark complex- 
ion, severe aspect ; but, under the dark and heavy 
eyebrow, there flashed a light pf Christian forti- 
tude and meekness. I truly loved him, and I 
could perceive that he took in me a more than 
common interest. His wife, a lady of command- 
ing beauty, was a native of Portugal, who, touched 
by the light of gospel truth, fled country and kin- 
dred, and became a faithful pastor's wife, and the 
mother of a most charming family. When, a year 
thereafter, I saw her again, I found her mourning 
with a mother's sorrow : for one after another they 



192 IS IT REBECCA? 

had been gathered into paradise; and through 
her tears she spoke with touching simplicity, 
*^ Truly, it has shaken my faith; for I begged so 
hard for the last one ! " 

And through d'Aubigne I became acquainted 
with the learned and amiable Gaussen, the enthu- 
siastic author of the " Theopneusty ; " and with 
Pilot Joly, eloquent through the simplicity of his 
faith ; and with full-souled Laharpe, and others 
of the '^ Ecole Theologique," at that time the true 
exponent of the great and wholesome movement 
in Geneva. 

But my heart yearned after the author of the 
" Songs of Zion." To him I had an introduction 
from his son, whom. I met at Tubingen. I had 
none other: for already then he stood alone — alone 
in his excellency, alone in his faults, alone in his 
security ; and, perceiving this, my heart, itself too 
secure, sought him out with a strange and unac- 
countable eagerness. 

About half a mile from the suburbs of Geneva 
there was a charming spot, not improperly called 
*' Pre Beni," or " Blessed Meadow. ' It was an 
extensive garden, with an enclosure of fragrant 
hawthorn, jessamine, and lilac. Laid out in sim- 
ple style, the undulating grounds presented the 
most pleasing variety of flower-beds, terraces, and 
groves of chestnut, lime, and rose trees. The 
dwelling was like the surrounding garden, in its 
style combining Swiss simplicity and English com- 
fort ; and near by stood, ensconced between the 



IS IT REBECCA? 193 

graceful trees and shrubbery, a neat and cheerful- 
looking chapel, with its belfry always ready to 
call to prayer : it was the " Church of the Wit- 
ness." 

For there the venerable pastor had borne wit- 
ness to the truth of God for more than twenty 
years, in a time of reproach and persecution, in a 
time when the divinity of his Savior was openly 
denied in the pulpits of Geneva. Endowed with 
all the gifts of body and mind, he refused the ap- 
plause of an unbelieving multitude, and, descend- 
ing from national pulpit and professor's chair, be- 
came for Switzerland what Wesley and Whitefield 
had been for England. 

He received me as one whom he had long since 
expected. I was struck by his appearance. His 
snow-white hair, waving in graceful locks over his 
broad and well-built shoulders, his clear and 
piercing eye, his almost faultless face and winning 
smile — it all took me by surprise. Soon we were 
in deep and searching conversation ; and I left 
him, with the promise of an evening visit, to make 
the acquaintance of the family. 

That afternoon, towards dusk, I went to the 
Chapel of the Witness. It was rapidly filling 
with sober and serious looking men and women. 
The ^^ songs of Zion," so sweet and solemn ; the 
fervent prayer of the pastor ; the pathetic and 
heart-searching exhortation — it all struck me by 
its natural expression of deep-felt piety. It was 
different from what I had seen or heard before. 

13 



194 IS IT REBECCA? 

From the chapel, I accompanied the pastor to 
his dwelling. And they sat down at the long 
supper table, the venerable parents at the end ; 
nine maidens, young men and children between 
them. Three were absent — one a missionary in 
India, another a student in Tubingen, and a third 
(a daughter) on a visit to Nyon. The pastor was 
the same in his family circle as in the pulpit — 
wide awake and glowing with Christian affection. 
And at last the whole family, rising, sang one of 
the ^'chants de Sion;" after which, all kneeling, 
he poured forth a fervent prayer for his family 
and for the absent ones, and did not forget the 
stranger and his work. 

When, on the following day, I mentioned my 
unbounded admiration to the noble-hearted d'Au- 
bigne, I perceived a shade of thoughtfulness set- 
tling on his brow. What he said I do not remem- 
ber ; but it became clear to me that, even among 
the "brethren" in Geneva, there was diversity of 
opinion. And I believe that if I had followed his 
advice " to be on my guard," I should have saved 
myself a great amount of trouble ; for the excel- 
lent pastor of the Witness was extreme in his 
views, and my ardent mind was but too sus- 
ceptible. 

Having visited the numerous establishments of 
education in and near the city, the time of my de- 
parture approached. It was Saturday ; when a 
son of the family of Pre Beni knocked at the 
door, and kindly inquired after my health. It is 



IS IT REBECCA? 195 

true, I had not been there since my second visit. 
I had not answered the pastor's friendly invitation 
to come and go like one of the family. I had fol- 
lowed the advice of wisdom ; I had avoided the 
fascinating influence exerted by the vivid expres- 
sion of heartfelt but exclusive piety ; by the magic 
of wonderful talent, but subservient to a one-sided 
view ; by the loveliness of family life, devoted to 
to the service of God, but only practicable in the 
seclusion of Pre Beni. And in this I had followed 
an instinctive dread, a mysterious warning. But, 
when the amiable young man pressed an invita- 
tion to dinner, I did accept. 

And again I entered the precincts of the 
" Blessed Meadow." I remembered the first meet- 
ing with the venerable pastor, and the evening 
song. The spot seemed to possess a mysterious 
charm, increased by my protracted absence. I 
felt as if I came to my oivn. Thus said my heart, 
whilst my reason kept silence. And, when we 
were seated at the long and neat but frugal table, 
my eye, wandering along the line of lovely chil- 
dren, discovered the third daughter of the family, 
Avho had just returned from her trip to Nyon. 
Unlike her elder sisters, Melinda was dark-eyed, 
and her raven locks almost hid her beautiful feat- 
ures from observation. She spoke little, and her 
whole attention seemed to be given to her younger 
sisters. As soon as dinner was concluded, she 
arose, and, taking a small basket, went out to visit 
some poor and sick in the neighborhood. 



196 IS IT REBECCA? 

The pastor and myself went into the garden, 
and sat down in the shade of a beautiful Hme-tree. 
He spoke about my work and prospects ; and I 
opened my inmost soul to him, as a son would to 
his father. Perceiving the need which I felt, but 
did not express, of a companion to share my cares 
and prayers and hopes and sorrows, he pressed me 
in his arms with tender affection, and said with 
solemn emphasis, ^^ My brother, on the mount of 
the Lord it shall be provided;" and I left him 
with the promise of passing with him the follow- 
ing evening, the last of my sojourn in Geneva. 

That evening, after supper, the dessert was 
brought. It was a plate filled with slips of paper, 
on each of which was written a sentence from 
Scripture ; and, as it passed round, each one took 
his slip, the guests as well as the smallest chil- 
dren ; and, in turn, those who were able said some 
words of explanation, or answered some questions. 
It was amusing, interesting and instructive ; 
chiefly so by the inimitable manner of the pastor. 
Melinda read her sentence : " The Lord is thy 
shield and buckler." They were the first words I 
heard her speak ; and I thought her voice was 
sweet and melodious. 

After this, a tiny box was presented by one of 
the little girls. "This box," said the pastor, "goes 
around every Sunday evening, and each one is ex- 
pected to give something. What is thus collected 
is employed to redeem a slave from the market of 
Cairo, and to give her a Christian education. We 



IS IT REBECCA? 197 

have already redeemed one, who is now receiving 
education." 

Thus the evening passed in sweet and useful 
conversation ; and, towards ten o'clock, they all 
arose and sung, on account of me, the touching 
"chant du depart." The pastor blessed me with 
encouraging and consoling words ; and as, one by 
one, I took leave of all, my eyes for the first time 
met those of Melinda. " Dieu vous henisse ! " said 
she in sweet and silvery tones, whilst reaching me 
the hand ; and her eyes seemed to me beaming 
with Christian affection. 

The following day I left Geneva with thankful 
feelings for all the kindness I had received. We 
traveled over Lausanne and Neufchatel and Fri- 
bourof to Berne. From there we went to Thun 
and Interlachen ; thence through all the sublime 
and sometimes " awful " beauties of the Berner 
Oberland. We crossed the picturesque, but some- 
times dangerous, Walstatter Sea ; and, over Lu- 
cerne, came to Schaffhausen. There we took a 
carriage to cross the south of Wurtemburg, and 
the gloomy yet interesting region of the Black 
Forest. 

At last we came to Coblentz, where we waited 
the arrival of Mrs. Fauve, an elderly lady from 
Neufchatel. Strongly recommended by Mr. d'Au- 
bigne, I had engaged her as matron in my insti- 
tute. Her age, her experience and piety, made 
him think that she would be a desirable person to 
fill the place. Though he was, in some measure, 



198 IS IT REBECCA? 

deceived, and I with him, yet she was kind and 
good. We continued our journey pleasantly, de- 
scending once more the picturesque Hhine, until, 
at the appointed date, we reached the field of our 
labors. But during all the traveling, on Alp and 
glacier, on lake and road, in steamer and in swift- 
rolling carriage, the question returned with un- 
ceasing assiduity, Is it Rebecca ? 



THE DEMAND. 199 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE DEMAND. 

I CAME home with all the vivid remembrances 
of rapid and varied traveling, and with the fra- 
grance, so to say, of Christian life, as seen in more 
than one household of Geneva. But when I en- 
tered the large and roomy institute, there was no 
congenial soul to bid me welcome. It seemed all 
cold and dreary. I deeply felt that I had no home. 
I had perceived it before, but it never struck me 
as now ; when, thoughtful, I sat down in my 
study, a novice in the" arts of intrigue and cal- 
umny, and wondering at the wickedness of men. 

For the matron, who, by the arrival of Mrs. 
Fauve, perceived that her rule was at an end, ex- 
erted all her art and smoothness of tongue to give 
me blame. Those, too, who had placed her with 
me, took a more or less hostile position ; and the 
time which she remained, under color of initiating 
the new matron in her duties, she employed in 
perverting the young Swiss whom I had received 
as an assistant. 

Inexperienced, and with little learning, he had 
come from the Helvetian mountains, and in the 
royal residence was little at ease; but seeing his 
studious disposition, and aptness to learn, as well 
as a conscientious strictness in the discharge of his 



200 THE DEMAND. 

duties, I had tried to make the best of the case. 
As a brother I treated him, and taught him, and 
provided for him; and, for the little service he 
could render, I gave him an honorable salary. 
When I returned from his native country, I felt 
still more for him, for I understood him better ; 
and I looked to him, if not as to an efficient helj), 
at least as to a friendly companion, in whom I 
could place confidence. 

When he saw me on my return, he was glad, 
as one who wishes to escape a temptation. But, 
after a few days, he became gloomy and reserved; 
and, when I kindly pressed him for an explana- 
tion, he became overbearing, and went often to Pas- 
tor Secretan and the counselor, and finally made his 
stay with me dependent upon suchexcessive de- 
mands, that, in conscience, I could not accede. 

It was nearly midnight w^hen he claimed ^^ set- 
tlement," and declared his intention to leave the 
next morning. I gave all he demanded; and, 
wishing him a better mind, turned to my eldest 
pupil, saying, " What next ? " 

He was a youth of seventeen, affectionate, and 
nearly idolizing me; and he answered, ^' Pastor 
S. is very wrong." 

From that time I knew that Pastor S. and 
Counselor G. V. P. w^ere not among my best 
friends. There was a great rumor in the city 
about those successive departures; and I could 
not apply to myself the text, ^^ Woe unto you if 
all men shall speak well of you ! " 



THE DEMAND. 201 

But the institute went on steadily and prosper- 
ously: for I worked hard, and without ceasing; 
and, leaving some branches to other teachers, I 
kept the most important in my own hands. 

Then Lady Marie gave proof of devoted friend- 
ship ; for my Swiss matron, though zealous 
and attentive, was insufficient for the task of 
directing and governing such a household in a. 
country not her own. And, month after month, 
Lady Marie came daily to the *' West End " to 
instruct her and guide her. Oh woman's friend- 
ship ! when true, so very true, so very devoted, so 
indefatigable ! Why I did not open my heart to 
her, I do not know. Why in this I made a breach 
of friendship, I do not know; unless it be that she 
had been for many years my " beau ideal " of 
woman's excellency, and that I w^as averse to 
showing her the glimpse of anything approaching 
her in my estimation. 

Whatever it was, I did not speak ; and the less 
I spoke, the more the distant ideal grew in bright- 
ness, the more my silent yearning took the form 
of real need. With the pastor of the Witness I 
had kept up a regular correspondence; for my 
heart was knit to his, and with none I ever felt 
such perfect congeniality. In answer to one of 
my letters, he wrote, the ninth of November : 

'' On your account, well-beloved ! we have 
no manner of anxiety. Your heart is firm in 
Jesus, and himself will show his deliverance in 
the day of need. He will be your counselor. 



202 THE DEMAND. 

and, if need be, your comforter, with regard to 
the subject your letter touches. If he wishes 
your solitude to cease, himself will direct you to 
her who has to be your companion in this life. If, 
at that time, there had been occasion for your 
good friend of Geneva to "hear all you had to tell 
him, he would have done so, when, under the 
shading garden tree, you opened him your heart. 
But he felt, as he feels at this moment, that then 
he could not do it ; and he directed you to the 
Lord. To leave Him our future is our true secur- 
ity. Thus I do. I wait. You perceive this is 
a hurried letter. But, if to-day I answer you so 
rapidly, do not think that your remembrance is 
superficial in my family. It is quite the contrary, 
my well-beloved ; and your name is never pro- 
nounced under my roof but with thanksgiving and 
blessing. 

^^ It is, therefore, in the life and peace which 
w^e all have in Jesus, that I send you all my love, 
and that of ours.^^ 

And then I wrote him a letter, wherein I 
opened the inmost wishes of my heart ; and, 
pleading with the earnestness of enthusiasm and 
the peremptory decision of religious persuasion, 
I said, "0 my father!" (for thus ■! was accus- 
tomed to address him.) "give me your third 
daughter, Melinda." 

Thus much I remember having written ; but the 
answer, which I have before me, I know better : 



THE DEMAND. 203 

" What a letter, well-beloved ! and what a de- 
mand ! What prayers needed on both sides, and 
what wisdom, in such circumstances ! You wait 
for an answer. It is your conscientious advice 
which I come to ask. Tell me, what would you 
do in the place of a father, who, having seen two 
well-beloved daughters leaving his happy home, 
was called upon to separate from a third one, in- 
dispensahly needed for the education of four 
younger sisters ? What would you do, if this 
daughter declares that she cannot leave her fam- 
ily ; that she dreads expatriation ; that she knows, 
of him who asks her in marriage, nothing but 
what is honorable, yet not enough to appreciate 
his character, views and habits ? What w^ould 
you do, if the father himself was in the dark, in 
many respects, concerning the health and resources 
of him who asks him such a gift 1 

^' Do you think, my well-beloved, that, with all 
the esteem and Christian affection the father had 
for the friend, he could, as a father, say yes, even 
against the wish of his child ? Not as if there 
were aversion — far from it — but because there 
might be other thoughts. 

"Judge yourself, and be sincere; for I ask your 
advice with the same frankness wherewith you 
have written me. Both you and T are before 
God." 

To this letter I did not answer rightly ; for I 
was under the influence of a "fixed idea." Thus 



204 THE DEMAND. 

it seems now to me. Ten days thereafter I re- 
ceived the following : 

^^Well-beloved, what a sadness in that poor 
half-sheet, written in haste, and with bitterness ! I 
had consulted you in all sincerity ; and when ask- 
ing you, ' What would you do in my place ? ' I ex- 
pected the cordial and detailed answer of your 
affection. In its stead I receive a deep lamenta- 
tion ; and you see nothing but a refusal, where, in 
truth, was nothing but a doubt, an uncertainty, in 
which I appealed to your owm prudence. 

*^ If Hebecca was consulted when it was pro- 
posed to her to be the wife of Isaac, and if it was 
she who had to answer, ^ I will go,'' what could the 
father of this dear and precious daughter do, when 
you said, 'Give her to me'? What could he do 
but say to her, ' Wilt thou leave us to unite thy- 
self to this friend ? ' 

" And what if my daughter answers, ' I have 
the greatest esteem for him by what you say of 
him ; but I do not know him : I have never 
spoken to him. I am ignorant of his character 
and habits ; and I am so happy with you, that it 
will be very difficult for me to exchange this happy 
fate for any other. But if he comes again to Ge- 
neva, and visits our family, then he will be known 
more fully ; and then, also, the Lord will show if 
his request must be acceded to.' 

'^ If such is the answer of my daughter (a wise 
and scriptural answer), what shall her father do ? 



THE DEMAND. 205 

What can he do but explain the position to his 
friend, and say, ' What do you think of it?^ I am 
sure, then, well-beloved, that you have misunder- 
stood my letter. I hold me still before the Lord. 
I wait his decision. Weigh these things ; and do 
not say that there is a refusal, when there is only 
ignorance of the will of our heavenly Father." 

Thus he wrote in sweet and affectionate lan- 
guage, and my heart was at ease. With renewed 
vigor, I attended to the increasing numbers of my 
pupils. And on the fourth day of February, 
1839, I held a second examination, which was 
more largely attended than the first, and brought 
me more honor and credit : for my older classes 
readily wrote a Latin composition, and were well 
advanced in their mathematical studies ; and my 
younger classes, after a half-year's study in Greek, 
astonished learned men there present by reading 
and translating the Greek Testament. The praise 
and encouraofement which I received stimulated 
me to greater exertion. My occupation was in- 
cessant ; and living, as I did, with my pupils, I 
did not find the time for recruiting. Many were 
the warnings given me by kind and affectionate 
friendship ; but I heeded them not, feeling alto- 
gether "too secure" in my honest intention. But 
in the latter days of March, a season harsh and 
inclement, I felt my strength diminishing ; yet I 
heeded it not ; and, after the usual morning les- 
sons, I made a long walk by the seashore. On 



206 THE DEMAND. 

my return, I sat down, surrounded by my eldest 
pupils, and explained to them (I remember it well) 
a lesson in Euripides ; when all at once my eyes 
grew dim, and, sinking from my chair, exhausted 
nature gave way. 

During many days a raging fever consumed me. 
My wandering mind dwelt constantly upon my 
pupils, and Charles was first in my imagination ; 
next came William Trip; next, others in succes- 
sion. But all my ravings, strange to say, I re- 
member yet. And my pupils' anxious inquiries, 
and the parents' sorrowful visits, ,the doubts ex- 
pressed by physicians, I confusedly remember, as 
well as the workings of my own spirit, seemingly 
fluttering on the confines of eternity. 



THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 207 



CHAPTEK XXYI. 

THE FLIGHT TO TABS HIS H 

When the crisis was passed, and reason re- 
turned, Lady Marie was at my bedside. There 
she had been from the beginning, watching and 
attending to my wants, and, in my extensive 
household, directing and governing, so that each 
one should do his duty; for my Swiss matron, 
though good and kind, was inefficient. 

Twenty years have rolled by, and Lady Marie 
will never read these lines; but, if she does, they 
cannot convey to her the hundredth part of what 
I feel when remembering those days of languor, 
in which I behold her like a guardian angel mov- 
ing and stirring about, and, with characteristic en- 
ergy, encouraging my amazed soul. For when the 
fever had left me, I began to realize my position ; 
and, with the ardor of youth and mental force, I 
called together my pupils, and opened the school 
with prayer, as was my custom. 

But I sank down in utter prostration ; and 
though weeping with impatience, I must confess 
it, I had to resign myself to the sick-room. And 
then, having regained strength sufficient, I went 
with a faithful servant to the pleasant environs of 
Z., where the Moravian brethren have a large 
community. 



208 THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 

It was in the first days of the beautiful month 
of May, when, in those climes, the leaves begin to 
sprout, and nature presents the image of a true, 
a blessed resurrection. Frequently, towards dusk, 
I walked slowly to the Moravian church, and en- 
joyed their simple worship, their short but Heaven- 
speeding prayers. 

And once, on my return, I met, at a distance, 
the Swiss assistant who so ill repaid my care and 
kindness. His heart smote him when he saw my 
feeble state ; for 'he turned aside. But the same 
evening he called on me ; and then he confessed his 
wrong, and, as I knew before, brought it home to 
the evil influence exerted upon him by the former 
matron. I forgave him freely, and rejoiced to see 
him occupy an honorable position in one of the 
Moravian schools. 

During a fortnight, I gathered strength, and 
then returned to the Hague with the hope of 
being able to resume my labors. But, the very 
first morning, I had to give it up ; and the physi- 
cian now interfered, and said that further attempts 
would endanger my life, and that forty days at 
least of rest were necessary to recover from utter 
prostration. 

The summer vacation of six weeks was ad- 
vanced; and on the first day of June, I was on 
the steamer to Bonn : for there I would rest, and 
find medical advice and kindly friends. 

An entire change of air and scenery restored 
my energies much sooner than was anticipated; 



THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 209 

and in Bonn I found my excellent friends the 
Thormanns, and passed many pleasant days with 
them. But my heart was restless ; for to no one 
had I breathed the indirect obligation I was under 
of going to Switzerland ; and, at first, the state 
of my health seemed to make such a voyage im- 
possible : so that it was with difficulty that I ob- 
tained the physician's consent to go to Frankfort, 
where I had an appointment with a German 
teacher recommended to me by the Thormanns. 
I engaged him, and was on my way to take my 
passage in the stage, which in four days and nights 
would take me to Basel. 

What was it, then, which made me doubt ? for 
I returned, and passed the night in suspense. Did 
I not ask her ? Was I not told to come and see ? 
My heart's impulse, stimulated by the feverish 
activity of an overworked brain, drove me to go 
on, backed, as it were, by a religious enthusiasm 
which I mistook for faith. My reason, strong 
enough when left alone, blew the bubbles of my 
imagination to nothing, and showed me the folly 
of persevering in what seemed, after all, the mere 
impression of a moment, nourished and strength- 
ened by the illusions of distance. 

Thus it seems now to me. Or is it that the 
human mind has a mysterious power of forebod- 
ing evil ? Or is it that there are guardian spirits 
who give us warning, and kindly influence us to 
abstain from what may do us harm ? 

I really do not know ; but well do I remember 

14 



210 THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 

the secret anguish of my foolish heart, and how it 
was a battle-field of conflicting powers, the one 
urging on, the other warning back. The first, for 
a time, gained the victory ; and from Frankfort I 
took the stage to Mentz, and thence the steamer 
to Manheim. But there, in the sober thoughts 
of night, a dread came over me ; and, the follow- 
ing morning, I returned to Mentz. On the 
steamer, surrounded by gay companions, who lit- 
tle knew what conflict was battling in my bosom, 
I poured out my doubts and fears, my wishes and 
hesitations, in a letter to the pastor of the Wit- 
ness. This letter I mailed at Mentz, and contin- 
ued my downward course to Bonn. 

And to this letter the pastor answered : 

^^ Yes, man of little faith ! you have feared 
to know what God wishes of you and for you, and 
you ^ have fled to Tarshish.' Your letter is full 
of trouble ; and yet how deeply it has touched 
me ! You suffer, and even much : is not this 
enough to make me suffbr too ? Could I write at 
large (which my trembling and nervous hand for- 
bids), I would tell you how inconsistent you are 
with your own desire. For how will you live, 
if this state of uncertainty is prolonged ? and how 
can it cease, if you prevent its ending ? Absent, 
you remain unknown ; and, unknown, you can 
neither be refused, which might be unjust, and 
contrary to the will of God ; nor can you be ac- 
cepted, which might be imprudent and hazardous. 
Judge, then, of your course. 



THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 211 

" And judge also of my position. On one side, 
it is your friend, your good friend, who sees your 
weakness, and is obliged to say, ^ Why not know 
decidedly what is the will of God ? Why fear 
this interview ? Whatever may be the issue, it 
must be his good pleasure.' 

" On the other side, it is a father, and a father 
who respects the feelings of his child, and will not 
and ought not to presume, nor to provoke any de- 
termination. This father, however, believes to 
have shown enousfh what his own heart thinks, 
nay, what it ivishes ; for this father looks to Christ, 
and not to earthly treasures. This letter is hur- 
ried. Yours came yesterday. When will this one 
reach you ? " 

It reached me many, many weeks thereafter, 
when I came home ; for on the same day that he 
penned those pressing lines, so full of heart and 
sense, I had taken my passage on the stage through 
from Bonn to Lausanne. And there I arrived 
after six day's travel night and day. I rested one 
day ; for my mind and body were fatigued. I 
ensraofed another assistant, who was recommended 
to me by the venerable d'Aubigne. 

The following" day, I was on the steamboat to 
Geneva, where I arrived in the afternoon, and 
directed my steps once more to Pre Beni ; and, 
when I met the venerable pastor, like a father 
he embraced me with the affection of Christian 
love. 



212 THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 

" Have you received my letter ? " was the first 
thing he said. 

When he ' understood I had not, he was glad. 
He took me into his hermitage, which Avas his 
study, a cheerful little building in a remote corner 
of the garden. There, kneeling down he prayed 
with me, as was his custom ; and his prayer I 
remember, because he spoke to Him as present, 
not far off. Then he arose, and foldinof me in 
his arms, he said, " I am glad ;" and holding me 
at a distance, his beaming eye fixed on mine, he 
said, ^^ You look tired and care-worn. Go to our 
neighbor, the excellent Miss C. ; rest yourself, and 
speak to her as you would to us. I go to fetch 
my wife, who is on a visit to her parents. Then 
come and partake of our supper." 

I found in Miss C. an elderly lady, fondly at- 
tached to the pastor's family, and combining with 
great loveliness of disposition a sound and prac- 
tical sense, 

" Melinda," she said, '* has always evinced a 
great aversion to marriage. Four times she has 
been asked by parties honorable and acceptable 
in every sense ; but four times she has refused. 
Home is her all ; Switzerland is her all. But she 
gives better reasons than these. Her two elder 
sisters are married far ofi*, one in Scotland, one in 
France. Her younger sisters look up to her for 
guidance and instruction ; and, with her mother's 
feeble state of health, she verily thinks her place 
to be at home. This is against you. But in your 



THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 213 

favor is the desire of her mother, who seems to 
love you as one who might be her son ; and the 
wish of her father, w^ho considers you as a son, 
whether you marry his daughter or not. Truly, 
you have more advantages than any of your pre- 
decessors ; for you left a favorable impression dur- 
ing your last visit. And, if you gain this prize I 
shall be glad for you, and not less for her whom I 
really do love ; for my opinion of you is founded 
not only upon excellent reports, but also upon 
pleasant personal acquaintance." 

Thus she dismissed me with kind and encouraof- 
ing words ; for the time of my visit to Pre Beni 
approached. And, commending my case to her 
friendly protection, I left, and entered the gate of 
the " Blessed Meadow." 

The venerable mother received me with the 
simplicity of Christian love ; with the dignity of 
a mother who has a treasure to bestow, she re- 
ceived me. The moments were few ; but the words 
were full and pregnant. I remember them all ; 
but best when she said, ^^ If you become our son."" 
This made a mark which, to this day, is not 
effaced, for, truly, I am their son, through the love 
of Him who lives in them and me. 

When the folding-door was opened, Melinda 
stood surrounded by a throng of sisters. Lovely 
children they were ; as it seemed to me, from the 
age of eight to sixteen ; and with worshipful love 
they looked up to Melinda, since the departure of 
the two eldest, their guide and instructress. 



214 THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 

Some of the younger sisters are now married, and 
have crossed the ocean to follow their ^' minister- 
ing" husbands. What we both said, I remember; 
for in both of us the same spirit was alive : it was 
a spirit of reverence, a dread of presuming and 
forestalling the providence of God. 

When the evening song was finished, and the 
pastor had commended all, and not least the 
stranger and his desire, in a prayer warm and 
glowing with love, he said, " Leno," (and I remem- 
ber the tremor which passed through me when 
hearing myself thus addressed) — " Leno, during 
the shades of night you cannot stay with us ; but 
when the sun returns, come to the * Blessed Mead- 
ow,' and pray with us, and remain with us, as if 
you were at home." 

That night the moon was nearly full, and its 
soft light oversilvered the beautiful Leman. From 
my window in the Hotel des Bergues, I saw the 
water balancing in the cooling night-breeze, and 
rocking the graceful crafts and sailing-boats to and 
fro ; and, far in the distance, the vine -clad shores 
were sparkling with hundreds of lights in as many 
scattered and peaceful dwellings ; and above me 
the sky was blue as the waters of the lake, seem- 
ingly transparent like a crystalline vault ; and 
around me I heard the subdued buzzing of the 
many voices of a populous city. It was a scene 
of quiet, domestic grandeur. My thoughts went 
back to the North^ — to the stately residence, to 
the West-End, to the Institute, to the class-room; 



THE FLIGHT TO TAKSHISH. 215 

and shutting the window, and preparing for much- 
needed repose, I thought, "A beautiful home ! and 
such a family ! such a father, such a mother, such 
lovely sisters 1 Truly, the will of God shall be 
done." 

During three days I had been the familiar guest 
in the pastor's family ; and many had been our 
conversations, and sweet and instructive the inter- 
course with the pastor ; and my views on many 
points took a more decided, a too decided color. 
But on the fourth day, in the morning, she sat down 
in the shade of a beautiful chestnut grove, and said 
with a smile of satisfaction, ^^ I have good news 
for you : you may hope." 

What I thought or said or did, I very well re- 
member ; but as then I reverenced her, so do I 
now. 

*^My friends," she said, " wish me to decide this 
week ; but I think it worthier of you, and of me, 
and more regardful of God, that, having said thus 
much, I should wait at least four weeks for my 
decision." 

^^ You are a lucky wight," said Miss C, when I 
stormed into her room to carry the joyful tidings. 
'^ I knew it all. You certainly did not lose your 
time ! " 

After that, I tarried four days longer ; and hav- 
ing made my peace with the sisters, who grieved 
at their impending loss, I went the last morning 
to take my leave. For each one I had a little 
present to remember me ; for Melinda I had none. 



216 THE FLIGHT TO TARSHISH. 

But I dropped a few pieces of gold in her purse 
for the poor : this was my^ gift. She was free to 
thank me for it ; and so she did. 

Then the pastor summoned us to the hermitage, 
where we found the venerable mother ; and with 
pious words the parents confirmed their gift, 
should Melinda's decision agree. Then, kneeling 
down, he commended me to the care of Him who 
brought me there ; and when I had taken leave 
from the daughter, and received the mother's 
blessing, he accompanied me to the gate. With 
fond affection he pressed me to his heart, and said 
in his playful manner, " Though you rob me, I 
send you away with my blessing ;" and his beam- 
ing eye followed me long on the road to the 
steamer. 

It carried me down to Lausanne. From there 
I took the stage to Basel, the old and venerable 
theater of Erasmus's learning ; and the rest of the 
journey home was made by steamer, swiftly glid- 
ing down the Bhine, until at Botterdam I landed; 
and, within a few hours' time, I was at West- End 
Institute, 



DECISION. 217 



CHAPTEH XXVII. 

DECISION. 

The evening of my arrival I sat in my beautiful 
garden-room. It was, as it were, the family room, 
where we gathered morning and evening ; where 
my pupils were at home ; where visitors entered 
freely ; where I could see the boys playing, saun- 
tering and running, in the playgrounds. My good 
old matron sat opposite, at a small tea-table. It 
was the only semblance of family life which I 
could muster ; but, as it was, I remember it with 
pleasure. I was tired of traveling, but did not 
feel fatigue ; for I spoke to her of Geneva and the 
^' Blessed Meadow," and my happy prospects. 

As I said before, she was good and kind, and 
loved me with motherly affection ; and she listened 
with pleasure to the overruning fullness of my 
heart. The first who with joyful steps sprang 
into the room and on my knees, and hung on my 
neck, was William Trip, the one whom I loved 
best, because, through the severity of the chasten- 
ing rod, he had found the well-spring of my heart. 
He was amazed at my appearance, so strong and 
healthy, so flushed with hopeful energy. Alas, 
dear boy ! he did not know that for me had come 
the time of severe correction — the time wherein I 
had to learn to love through the clouds of doubt 
and grief 



218 DECISION. 

Soon the house hegan to fill ; and my newly en- 
gaged teachers arrived, both men of solid learning, 
and the institute assumed a form of completeness 
and thoroughness which made it a pleasure to 
teach ; and, by the increasing numbers, it would 
seem a pleasure to be taught. But when, after 
the first morning lessons, I eutered my study, my 
eye glanced over the writing-desk, hoping to dis- 
cover among the many letters which the mail had 
brought the peculiar form and stamp of Geneva 
tidings ; for the time approached wherein my 
heart would be fully set at rest in a matter which 
now pre-occupied me with impetuous desire. 

But as, in the calm of a summer day, a few 
small clouds prognosticate the coming storm ; so, 
from time to time, a letter from the pastor, or one 
from an intimate friend of Melinda, foreboded 
coming disappointment ; and, on the fourteenth of 
August, the pastor wrote me from Tubingen : 

" Well-beloved, I have received the letter, 
wherein you express your fear, and in the same 
time your resignation to the will of God. Is there 
a better peace than this ? Were he not our stay 
and guide, how could we, without constant agony, 
pass through life ? I suffer with you, for your 
pain is great ; and with you I wait for that which 
God, yea, God himself, will order. For listen : I 
left Geneva on the fifth ; and on the city bridge I 
met the carrier of the mail, who put in my hands 
a letter, which on the road I opened. It is from 



DECISION. 219 

a young minister of God, a friend of our family, 
ivlio asks me the hand of Melinda. 

^^ I have kept this from her and from her 
mother. I shall do so until I know what God de- 
cides concerning my daughter. Not as if I thought 
that she would accept this proposal : I believe the 
contrary. But we must leave to God all his right ; 
and as you, well-beloved, would not have a wife 
whom God himself did not give, so do I fear lest 
my daughter's decision be affected one way or the 
other, should I reveal to her this new demand. 
But you can judge of my position, and how en- 
tirely I must depend upon God, assured that he 
will dispense to me, to you, to all, that which tends 
to our real peace, and to his glory in the midst of 
his children. I have no other expectation, no 
other right. 

^^ And such is yours. With the Almighty you 
have to do. He is your Father : what should you 
fear ? Peace, then, and prayer, until the issue. I 
await it ; and so do you, whilst our adorable 
Savior teaches you patience." 

Thus wrote the pious father of that God-fearing 
maiden, who in prayer and anxiety sought for 
love sufficiently strong to break the bonds of home 
and parents' care and sisters' affection, and to fol- 
low the stranger in the North, and there with him 
to labor. 

" None she loves as well as vou : " thus wrote 
her friend, the lovely Loise. '^ Your pious tender- 
ness and affectionate regard have made a deep 



220 DECISION. 

impression on her appreciating heart. But her 
parents and sisters draw her affections ; and, 
never inclined to marriage, she desires, however, 
to do the will of God. Do not press a decision at 
the appointed time ; for I fear it might be unfa- 
vorable : wait and be patient." 

But I, with impetuous desire, and unable to 
bear up against longer suspense, wrote to Melinda 
words of urging tenderness, with passionate ap- 
peal to the past, and foreshadowing my dreary 
future. And to this she answered, humbling 
herself if there was any fault of hers, and deeply 
lamenting the pain she caused, but confessing, 
that, after prayer and supplication, she did not 
hear a voice strong enough to go, whilst so many 
duties and sacred affections told her to stay. 

And though, after this, Loise wrote that Me- 
linda had refused the French minister, and ad- 
vised me to hope and wait ; and though the ven- 
erable mother, with pious tenderness loving me, 
and perceiving the depth of my affection, sug- 
gested, long thereafter, the feasibility of removing 
my institute to Switzerland, — from the day that 
my eye gazed long and steadily at this letter of 
the pious maiden, I saw and felt that God had 
decided. 

To this day, Melinda is with her aged parents, 
a monument of filial piety ; and in my heart she 
is enshrined as one whom once I loved more than 
I ought, till, knowing the will of God, the stormy 
waves of my affection, which flooded my heart, 



DECISION. 221 

were made to run in the deep and purer channel 
of Christian charity. 

Thus I have, Source of my life ! remembered 
her whom Thou alio west me to meet and know, 
yet not to call my own. Why Thou didst so, I 
have often inquired : for, in that time, a cloudy 
mist seemed to cover the canopy of heaven ; and, 
in the agony of my soul, I could not discern the 
brightness of the sun, but only saw the glimmer- 
ings of light, — enough to know that Thou wast 
present. Still, why Thou shouldst thus allow thy 
servant to be afflicted, I wished to know. Why 
didst Thou allow me to meet her and to love her ? 
and when loving her, why didst Thou forbid me 
to love ? Thou knowest, I asked Thee often in 
those times. But Thou didst not answer me; and 
forsooth, I would not have understood Thee ; but 
since thy Holy Spirit has taught me, when length 
of time, and course of circumstances, made it clear. 

I had loved others before, but none like her. I 
had loved others for their beauty, their loveliness, 
their talents, their worth, approaching more or 
less to my ideal of woman's excellency. I had 
loved them ; and loved them less, or ceased to 
love, when I found them deficient. But I never 
loved one as a child of God, whom I could receive 
from him as a gift for all eternity. Thus I loved 
her. And, when the gift was denied, I suffered 
for the time : for the wound was deep ; and, even 
when it ceased bleeding, there remained a painful 
gap. But no one could fill it but a child of God; 



222 DECISION. 

no one but whom I could ask and receive from 
him as a gift for all eternity. And thus, for sev- 
eral years, I was kept from seeking a less excel- 
lent one ; and, in the midst of many occasions, I 
was enabled to wait until He who made the 
wound applied " the balm of Gilead." Thus it 
now seems to me. 

And my heart, opened for a time to all the be- 
witching influences of chaste and pure affection, 
was throbbinof with deliofht, and loved Thee in 
the gift expected ; but, when the gift was with- 
held, it shrank with terrible revulsion. Yet love 
it must ; and, after the first bitterness of that 
medicine, it sought relief in the very Source of 
love. I then began to dive deeper into that 
ocean of Thy wonders, as revealed in Thy holy 
Word ; and the study of theology and the gospel 
ministry became the subjects of my constant med- 
itation. 

But from my intimacy with the pastor of the 
Witness, I had, with the enthusiasm of youthful 
ardor and sincere belief, imbibed a tendency too 
exclusive for the time and place wherein my lot 
was cast. His motto was, ^^ Separation from the 
world, without compromise." He carried it out 
to its full extent ; and with his numerous fainily, 
and many admirers in all quarters of the globe, 
he had stood erect, notwithstanding the dreary 
loneliness which by degrees had formed itself 
around him. To separate from the world was to 
separate from Pastor Secretan and the Counselor 



DECISION. 223 

and the whole aristocratic circle of believers ; for 
they all, and wisely, remained within the pale of 
the national church. It was an unwise step ; for 
it caused me to be blamed by all, by the devout as 
well as by the worldly-minded. 

And I am astonished that the prosperity of the 
institute was not affected by this measure, unnec- 
essary and premature. It was not. The confi- 
dence of men remained unshaken, notwithstanding 
the rumors caused by envy and malice. It must 
be, that the honesty of my purpose created respect, 
and took partly away the ^^ savor of bitterness" 
which follows all separation, — the well-deserved 
wages of "heresy and schism." For it is not by 
"separating from the world" that the children of 
Truth will better preserve the truth "which work- 
eth by love;" but it is by "living in" the world 
and "bearing" w^ith it and "sympathizing with" 
it, that they must "take up the cross," and follow 
Him who was "in the world, yet not of the world. " 

But this I did not understand; and, with the 
best intentions and the purest motive, I erred 
grievously. 

When the Christmas-days approached, one morn- 
ing the mail brought me a letter with superscrip- 
tion in a to me unknown writing. It ivas from 
Adelaide! The very name sent a thrill through 
my heart. It replaced me at once in the lovely 
garden at Leiden with my father and Mrs. de 
Hidder and those sweet affectionate children. It 
seemed as if the fraofrance of their innocence sur- 



224 DECISION. 

rounded me again; and the charm of their natural 
unselfish love soothed the more or less bitter feel- 
ings awakened by six years' contact with the world. 
I stood entranced, — my eye resting on the name, 
and glistening with emotion. 

^^Her mother was ill, very ill; beyond recovery. 
For many, many w^eeks, she had been watching 
her; and, if I could come and see her, it would be 
a consolation." 

Folding the letter, I took my hat and cloak, 
and with hurried steps went to the stage -office. 
I was Justin time. The passengers were taking 
their seats; and, having penciled on my card a line 
to Mrs. Fauve to inform her of my departure and 
probable absence for a few days, I was soon on my 
way to Amsterdam. 



ADELAIDE. 225 



CHAPTEE XXVIII. 

ADELAIDE. 

It was dark when I entered the populous me- 
tropolis, with its long and busy streets, its gas-lit 
stores, its throng of public and private carriages 
hastening to balls or concerts and theaters ; and I 
wound my way through many a street, until I 
reached the dwelling of the venerable Mrs. de 
Hidder. 

At once I walked up stairs ; and^ in the front 
room, a maiden stood mixing a relieving draught. 
Tall and graceful, the silky hair waving in long 
ringlets over her shoulders, the eye-lash shading 
two orbs full of devoted love, but dim with sorrow 
and anxious care, whilst the bloom of health 
seemed struggling on her feverish cheeks — thus 
she stood in the silence of night, a very picture of 
holv innocence, watchinof the call of her mother. 
And I heard the faintest w^hisper proceeding from 
the couch of sickness ; and the maiden went in 
with the cup of relief 

I stood amazed. Was this the child of ten 
years, whom so often I had fondled and petted 
and reproved ? Whilst I was recalling the sweet 
memories of times past, she returned, and beheld 
me wrapped in my cloak ; and, her eyes beaming 
with pleasure, she exclaimed, "Mr. Leno !" and, 

15 



226 ADELAIDE. 

throwing her arms around my neck, she wept 
tears of joy and sadness. 

What I felt, I cannot say, because I do not 
know. It was the sweet recollection of my early 
youth, with children's play and fondness, and my 
aofed father's humble contentment : and now the 
playful, sometimes wayward child had grown to a 
blooming maiden, fragrant with the perfume of 
chastity and innocence. She loved me as the 
friend of her chilhood, she reverenced me as the 
protector of her sweet and talented sister ; and 
my heart, which had seen so much excellence in 
woman's nature, which had for years admired in 
respectful silence the golden virtues of Lady Marie, 
and for a season revelled, as it were, in the affec- 
tion of Melinda — my heart, warm and glowing 
with the fire of sympathy, opened, and, in its 
quivering folds, received the lovely Adelaide. 

Thus it was. For I have sought, Source of 
my life ! the beginnings of that deep affection 
which I conceived for her whom, thou gavest me 
for all eternity. I have asked whether it was the 
sweet remembrance of blooming childhood, or the 
loveliness of chaste and pure virginity ; but I have 
not found the answer there. Thou hadst prepared 
her for me ; but I knew it not. For until Thou 
hadst manifested Thyself to her, and, through 
her, hadst sent me words of hope and love, I could 
not think she was the one whom Thou hadst des- 
tined to be my help and aid in this earthly life, 
and my sweetest companion in the realms of eter- 
nity. 



ADELAIDE. 227 

Having given our tribute to the memories of 
the past, and to the sad occasion which brought us 
ao'ain toQfether, she led me to the sick bed of her 
mother, which was to be her dying bed. Thin 
and feeble with slow-consuminof fever, she reached 
me her hand, and spoke of the pleasure my visit 
gave, and of the hope she humbly entertained of 
being soon released of this earthly life. Yet her 
two youngest daughters, so sweet and lovely, but 
so young, gave her a deep concern. The elder, 
once my favored pupil, was safe in an honorable 
and useful position ; but the younger, gifted above 
many, was near her heart ; and she commended 
her with anxious care to my protection. 

Two days I passed there ; and I saw Eleonore, 
and wondered how God had made the seeds to 
prosper, which, in early days, with tender care, I 
had deposited in her favored mind. The two sis- 
ters cluno: with the affection of old to the friend of 
their childhood ; but Eleonore was soon recalled 
to her duties in another citv, and Adelaide re- 
mained alone with the sweet but heavy burden of 
attending her venerable mother. Sixteen weeks 
she stayed with her, night and day — sixteen weeks 
of hope and anguish, of grief and consolation ; 
until, in the month of March, she closed her moth- 
er's eyes, and was an orphan. 

She was not without protection in the great me- 
tropolis ; for an uncle of her mother, a wealthy 
merchant, became her guardian. He was kind to 
her, though uncongenial in taste and habits ; for 



228 ADELAIDE. 

he was worldly, as were those around him ; and I 
was anxious, perhaps beyond necessity. The Count- 
ess Dowager Y. Limburg Styrum, the mother of 
my dear William Trip, loved the maiden by what 
she knew of her ; and, with her uncle's leave, she 
went to her, and stayed, like a daughter with her 
mother, loving and beloved. But, towards the 
end of the year, she went to France, where, at the 
Protestant Normal Institute at Lille, she enjoyed 
the privilege of an extensive Christian instruction. 
Thus Thou didst, merciful Cod ! prepare Thy 
gift. And I knew it not ; for though her letters 
to the countess were frequent, and full of affection, 
yet what Thou wast performing by degrees in her 
truth-loving heart, I did not know until the ap- 
pointed time. 

During the first part of 1840, the Institute 
grew in name and solidity. If it seems strange 
to say this so often, it must be remembered that 
things go slowly in that country. Confidence is 
not easily gained, but, once acquired, is not easily 
lost ; and to nothing I look back with more satis- 
faction than to the honorable appreciation thus 
gained by degrees, and, during years, preserved, 
notwithstanding obloquy, malice and envy. 

Towards the end of June, a third examination 
proved to parents and friends that my theory of 
simultaneous instruction in ancient and modern lan- 
guages, in all the branches of mathematical and 
physical sciences, in the arts of music and design, 
was more than a vain speculation ; and that the 



ADELAIDE. 229 

whole was pervaded with a Christian tendency, at 
once elevating and truly refining. My work was 
complete ; and w^ith satisfaction I behold, even 
now, the programme of the seven hours' examina- 
tion, as held on the twenty-fifth of June. None of 
my pupils then was older than sixteen years ; but 
in mathematics, they stood a thorough examination 
in conical sections and higher equations ; they 
translated the Greek of Demosthenes, Homer, and 
Euripides, into Latin ; and, in Latin, they read- 
ily explained Livy, Cicero, Yirgil and Horace ; 
whilst, in the presence of all, they wrote composi- 
tions in Latin, German, French and English, on 
subjects given by the audience. 

During the vacation, I made a journey through 
Belgium, with an especial regard to the paintings 
wherewith its churches abound. I saw many places 
where my ancestors had lived and worked ; and I 
was amazed at the rapid development of industry 
visible in all the parts of the Belgian kingdom 
since the separation from the uncongenial domin- 
ion of Holland. The whole country was covered 
with a network of railroads, of which the safety 
and rapidity are unsurpassed. Cities, populous 
and picturesque, were spread everywhere at short 
distances. I saw agriculture brought to perfec- 
tion, and the whole kingdom presenting the ap- 
pearance of a well-cultivated garden, with pleas- 
ant variety of meadows, cornfields, orchards, woods 
and forests, and, near the Mouse and Moselle, ex- 
tensive vineyards. The country was dotted over, 



230 ADELAIDE. 

as it were, with ancient seats and castles of illus- 
trious families. The population was honest and 
industrious, attached to the religion of their fore- 
fathers. . The Walloon provinces were especially 
remarkable for urbanity of manners and sociable 
politeness. Three universities were in prosperity, 
famed for their literary and scientific celebrities. 
Public instruction was cared for by a paternal gov- 
ernment, and schools of industry, arts and design 
established everywhere. There was a general en- 
thusiasm for music, and scarcely a town or city 
without its harmonic society. Annual competi- 
tions, and games of various kinds, reminded one of 
classic Greece. All these things struck me, for I 
was an attentive observer. I ceased to wonder 
that the fair provinces of Belgium were considered 
a jewel in the mighty Emperor Charles's crown ; 
and the convulsive grasp of William to retain these 
dominions, I could appreciate. 

Through the Forest of the Ardenes I traveled 
to Spa, once the rendezvous of European diplo- 
macy, where many sovereigns, from Peter the 
Great to Philip of Orleans, left traces of their so- 
journ. And there I made the acquaintance of the 
Viscount d'Arlincourt, that celebrated novelist of 
France, who, even in his tales of fiction, dreamed 
of Bourbon legitimacy and the divine right of 
kings. He was an invalid, and seemed to avoid 
all human intercourse ; living as a hermit near the 
Gironstere, one of the most beneficent fountains. 

Directed by my physician to the same source 



ADELAIDE. 231 

of health, I succeeded in approaching the eccen- 
tric man of letters. But a better acquaintance I 
made there : for, accidentally, I found the volumes 
of Fenelon's Correspondence ; and I remember 
that they exerted a great influence upon my ten- 
dencies. The sweet and learned Fenelon, with 
his deep and spiritual views, became not only my 
favorite author, but strengthened the secret wish 
of becoming a preacher of the gospel, a comforter 
of wearied souls. He opened to my view the 
inmost springs of human nature ; he showed me 
a wider field of usefulness than school or college 
or university. Day after day, I read these vol- 
umes in the sweet retreats of the Gironstere ; and 
I began to say, " If I cannot preach as Fenelon, 
I can feel as he, and advise and console, and dis- 
pense the ^balm of Gilead.'" 

With these impressions, I returned to the 
Hague, and once more opened lessons at the In- 
stitute. My time was divided between scholastic 
duties and. theological studies ; for to be a minis- 
ter of the gospel had become my aim. To the 
pastor of the Witness I had written ; and, with 
his sound and positive sense, he said : 

"Your work is a mission ; for to spread the gos- 
pel among the 'mighty,' is it not a mission? 
What work can be more useful and more accept- 
able ? And your house is a temple; for there you 
minister to the wants of those who may become 
heads of families. What service can be more to 
the honor of God? But if your heart desires the 



232 ADELAIDE. 

ministry, study ; and, having studied, go to Scot- 
land, and receive the imposition of hands, and act 
as a minister of God." 

Thus he wrote, and thus I labored; when, on 
the second day of December, I received notice 
from high authority to close the Institute! 

For, on that day. King William solemnly abdi- 
cated in favor of his son, once the chivalrous Prince 
of Orange ; and with him I lost the royal protec- 
tion. The long-compressed enmity of w^orldly- 
minded, power- loving magistrates could not wait 
one day; and with retiring royalty, West-End 
Institute had to fall. 

But the anxiety of parents was great : and, on 
their account, with soured heart, I went to the 
director of police ; for there I had to bring the 
sacred cause of Christian education. To him I 
went, and asked for time until I had addressed 
the royal majesty. He was a man of honor, who 
esteemed me and my work ; and, though his in- 
structions were peremptory, he took upon himself 
the responsibility of delaying extreme measures. 
And I went farther. I humbled myself even to 
go to the city authorities, and there to ask the 
boon of existence until the king's will should de- 
cide. With the bitter smile of victory, it was 
conceded ; and forthwith I penned a request, of 
which I have the copy before me. 

With the consciousness of birth and hiofh attain- 
ments, I approached his majesty, and laid before 
him my four years' successful work^ the approval 



ADELAIDE. 233 

of SO many noble families, but most that of his 
own illustrious father. " Accomplish," I said, 
'^ the work begun by him, and allow me, by decree, 
permission to continue my Institute here, or in 
any other place of your dominions. Protect with 
your especial authority an establishment which 
always, but more so in these times, deserves your 
attention — an establishment wherein the sons of 
nobility are trained in the wide range of science, 
civil and political ; wherein loyal affection for your 
illustrious dynasty is fostered, and the principles 
of enlightened Christianity are inculcated, teach- 
inof to 4ove God above all thinofs,' and to lienor 
the king.'" 

This document was placed in the hands of the 
chief-chamberlain. Count V. Limburg Styrum. 
But day followed day, and w^eek succeeded week, 
without a royal response ; for the days of the ven- 
erable William were gone, and royalty was no 
more approachable. 



234 REBECCA. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

REBECCA. 

Thus I passed the winter from 1840 to 1841 in 
suspense and humbling uncertainty ; waiting in 
vain for the favorable decision of a monarch whose 
profligacy I detested, and whom personally to ap- 
proach I would have disdained. The work for 
which I had sacrificed the prospects of youth, and 
the first energies of undeceived enthusiasm, the 
work which had assumed a solid form and comely 
appearance, began to be tinged with the withering 
influence of uncertainty. The Institute, where 
nobility was trained in the highest branches of 
science and carefully nurtured in the fear of God, 
was dependent for its existence on the whim and 
caprice of paltry city authorities. And each day 
might see the scandal of its doors being closed by 
the police, as those of a public nuisance; whilst 
each night, in which, after prayers, my pupils re- 
tired with a blessing, might be the last in which 
they would be allowed to remain under my pro- 
tection. 

Bitterness entered my soul, I confess it, 
Source of charity! when Thy servants sided 
against me, and the children of Truth kept silence 
because I did not follow their views. Not all did 
so ; but those whose influence might have stemmed 
the tide, which now began to run against me. 



REBECCA. 235 

For the families who had confided to me their 
sons remained unshaken in their opinion, and the 
love of their children was unimpaired; but the 
uncertain state of things, being noised abroad, 
intimidated others, and cast a veil of doubt over 
the rectitude of my intentions. 

And old griefs buried in the course of time, and 
traditions of family, which seemed absorbed in the 
novel career I had opened to my youthful am- 
bition, chastened by the impulse of religion, began 
to stir again. What, after all, was Holland to me? 
— what the reigning dynasty? Whatever I owed 
had I not paid it back with usury? Had I not 
risked my life in battle against the Belgian prov- 
inces ? Had I not devoted my whole heart and all 
my talents to the education of its nobility ? and, 
now that I asked the simple permission of con- 
tinuing my work, — not even in the royal residence, 
but anywhere in the kingdom, — was I not left in 
doubt and uncertainty, equal to, if not worse than, 
refusal ? 

Thus my heart was soured, and I remember 
those months of suspense w^th pain and grief; for 
I had attained the age of matured manhood, and 
I could appreciate the workings of party-spirit 
and maliciousness under the cloak of reliofion, com- 
bining with a heartless world to overthrow the 
work of years. I began to look to the Belgian 
provinces as the natural asylum where I could 
find a free and untrammeled field of action; where 
I might expect congeniality in all things except 



236 REBECCA. 

one: for Belgium was the bulwark of Roman 
power. In Belgium, education was in the hands 
of two parties : on one side, the clergy, more and 
more, with exclusive spirit, vindicating its influ- 
ence; on the other, the libei^al party, infidel and 
revolutionary. There to cast my lot was hazard- 
ous in the extreme ; for I was truly simple-minded, 
and loved the Truth for herself. And, among the 
Boman clergy, I have found many men whom I 
could reverence and love; and, among infidels, I 
have met with noble hearts whom I must admire : 
but I could never bend to what I deemed super- 
stition, nor could I work with those who denied 
Him. 

Whilst I was thus suffering from outward pres- 
sure, and the bitter feeling of injustice, crushing 
me with slow but sure and unperceived means, 
my bosom was torn by a wound which even now 
is not healed; for it was not inflicted bv the hand 
of God, but my own hands made it, cruelly tearing 
the bonds of charity. And I will confess this, 
my God ! I will confess it in these memoirs of my 
life, that others may learn, and my heart be un- 
burdened, and no one may think better of me than 
I deserve. 

My first and oldest pupils had now attained the 
age of entering the university. They were proud 
and handsome youths, full of life and vigor, and 
strong in the possession of rank and wealth. But, 
with increasing age and importance, they were in- 
dulged in what makes the delight of the world; 



REBECCA. 237 

yet not beyond the measure of common usage, but 
far beyond the measure of my stricter views, and 
of what I thouofht desirable for their future career. 
The eldest, always headstrong, gave me often cause 
of grief; whilst the younger, whom I loved as the 
ripening plant of my faithful culture, Avas more or 
less mfluenced by what I considered an evil. Thus 
the germ of bitterness arose in my heart ; and what 
I ought to have overlooked, I sharply reproved, 
and made the evil worse. 

The overbearing mood of Adolphe, scarcely 
restrained by the reverence he owed me, vented 
itself upon the assistants. More than once I had 
to interfere: but at last I resorted to an extreme, 
threatening expulsion at the first just complaint; 
and, when the complaint came, I thought I had 
gone to the utmost limits of forbearance, and with 
stern decision announced my resolution. But 
Charles, in a private interview, with manly energy 
pleaded, reminding me of Alfred, the promising 
boy, who innocently would be deprived of valuable 
instruction. 

I see him yet, and hear his deep and moved 
voice. What was it, then, which hardened my 
heart, and made me deaf to the interests of those 
I loved so well, and to my own? What was it 
which made me tear asunder a bond so tenderly 
interwoven with seven years of my life? What 
was it which made me forget the affection and love 
of parents, and the never-failing devotedness of 
Lady Marie? 



238 REBECCA. 

For, on the following day, I myself carried a 
letter, requesting the baron to withdraw his two 
eldest sons from the Institute; and when the 
father, boiling with indignation, wrote to me a 
letter filled with bitter reproach, showing appre- 
ciation of what I had done for his sons durinof so 
many years, but foretelling that I would regret 
the rash and cruel step, I remember having said, 
"I am right, — I am right: I could not do other- 
wise." And though thereafter we were reconciled, 
and he and his sons visited me frequently, yet I 
could never resolve to remove my sentence of ban- 
ishment. Thirteen years elapsed before I was 
convinced of my wrong. Then I was a father 
myself; and I remember the day, when in my 
solitary study, reading all the letters and papers, 
my heart was moved, my judgment enlightened; 
and, in the presence of none but Him who formed 
the heart and its issues, I confessed what I now 
confess, "that I had broken the law of charity." 

And this, with other sins, has been forgiven 
me. I know it, Source of my life! for I did it 
in ignorance, truly believing that I was right. 
But even my error. Thou, in Thy wisdom, em- 
ployedst as a good; for it sundered the strongest 
tie that bound me to the land of my sojourning, 
and hastened the course of events as Thou hadst 
directed them. 

Whilst I was preparing my fourth examination, 
bearing up against the pressure of uncertainty, 
and hoping by results to show the practical work- 



REBECCA. 239 

ing of my Institute, I was cheered by a letter from 
Adelaide. She was happy, and hoped to see me 
in my vacation. "Sometimes," she said, "I wish I 
could fly to you ! And now I desire your presence 
for more than one reason." For her heart had 
opened itself to the influence of heavenly truth, 
and her natural goodness had become sweetened 
with the perfume of grace: and, when residing for 
a time with a married sister, she had been struck 
by the difference ; for there she had not found the 
life of Christ, and the contrast made her attentive. 
Thus she w^as draAvn to Thee, Parent of our im- 
mortal souls ! 

The examination was even more successful than 
I expected, and attended by men of learning and 
experience, whose conversation I overheard, flat- 
tering to myself, and greatly commending the In- 
stitute. Unwilling to give up, unless in positive 
necessity, I had drawn out a plan of studies for 
the coming year, full and ample, and giving proof 
of the wide range my establishment w^as intended 
to take. With the conviction of having done my 
duty, and obtained the approbation of men whom 
I esteemed, I left for Brussels; and thence trav- 
elled to Mouscron, in the picturesque province of 
Hainault. 

I arrived towards dusk in the dreary -looking vil- 
lage. There was none of the enchanting beauty 
of Pre Beni, none of the Christian life so sweetly 
pervading the domestic circles of Geneva; there 
was no Church of the Witness, no song of Zion 



240 REBECCA. 

ascending from throngs of pious worshipers; and 
my own mood was different from that which, three 
years before, gave a rosy color to all I saw. I had 
learned much, and suffered much; and the poetry 
of religion had given place to stern reality. The 
future, too, seemed uncertain, though I felt it more 
than ever in the hands of God. My natural dis- 
position had become more stern, and less confiding ; 
and the glow of affection, which before had warmed 
me toward all,, had withdrawn at the contact with 
worldliness and hypocrisy : but the light of faith 
was burning with intensity; and, where I went, I 
carried the fear of God v/ithin. Thus I was, when 
through the dreary streets of Mouscron, I found 
my way to the house of Mr. P., an honest, socia- 
ble Frenchman, and an artist of more than common 
talent, the husband of Adelaide's eldest sister. 

The first I saw, when opening the door, was 
Adelaide, in pensive mood engaged in landscape- 
drawing. When I entered, looking up, she 
blushed, and rising, extended to me her hand 
with the warmth of friendship and the dignity of 
maidenhood. It was Adelaide; the same who 
received me in her mother's sick-room with out- 
burst of joy, but now with the composed reserve of 
a Christian virgin. Oh sweetness imparted by the 
indwelling grace of God! Oh true refinement, 
which neither birth nor learning can give ! Oh 
fragrance of holiness, wherein the soul is bathed, 
and which nothing can destroy, not even the pes- 
tilent atmosphere of a world in sin! 



REBECCA. 241 

I looked long at her ; and, holding her hand, I 
said, "The same, and yet how changed !" She 
blushed, and went to call her sister. 

During a week, many were the walks we made, 
and the conversations we had; sometimes search- 
ing, sometimes mirthful, sometimes recalling times 
past. My heart began to be troubled; for I was 
honest, and did more than love her : I reverenced 
her. I reverenced her for her childhood's sake, 
for her youth's sake, for her piety's sake; I rev- 
erenced in her the same who once had spoken to 
me in the silence of night; and, uncertain what to 
do, I prepared to depart on the following day. But 
her brother-in-law took me apart; and during a 
pleasant walk, he said, " What are your intentions? 
be clear: for Adelaide's r6st is at stake; and so is 
yours, if I see well." 

And I said: "Your sister is young, and without 
experience; and she may mistake affection for love." 
But he gave me encouraging assurance: and, strange 
to say, in the depth of my heart I was jealous of 
any interference; for so great a gift as I began to 
hope that God intended to give me in Adelaide, 
I wished to hold from Him alone. 

And, when that night I reached the hotel where 
I stopped, I urgently prayed, and little did I 
sleep ; for many were the thoughts which arose 
and vanished before mv imaofination. Whether I 
was right in asking the gift of God, I did not 
know; and the maiden seemed to me so pure and 
holy in her very solitude among uncongenial spir 

16 



242 REBECCA. 

its, that I dreaded to approach her with other th'an 
words of Christian fondness. 

But the following day, having partaken of my 
last meal with the family, I asked to see her alone. 
Standing in the small parlor, I took both her 
hands, and said, ^^ Adelaide, I have asked you as 
a gift from God for all eternity: there is none to 
answer for you but yourself What does God say ? " 

Through her I received the confirmation of what 
I hoped. ^'Dieu le veut,'' said she, hiding her 
blushing face in my bosom, ^'et je le veux." 

And we knelt down, and called upon Him who 
gave us to each other. Thus we honored Him; 
and, when we arose, I asked leave, in the presence 
of her family, to embrace her as my bride. 

That evening I departed, and left for the waters 
of Spa ; for we were both moved and amazed, and 
I thought it right to let the will of God have its 
untrammeled course. But our correspondence 
•made up for absence : they were letters sweet, and 
full of joy and confidence. And, after three weeks, 
I returned, and dreary Mouscron seemed a paradise 
to me. I found there Eleonore, always sweet and 
lovely, and happy in the happiness of her sister. 
With her I returned to the Ha^ue, once more to 
resume my labor, but strengthened in my heart: 
for, come what would, I had found a sweet com- 
panion, with whom to pray and hope, and to battle 
through life; and all the bitterness caused by in- 
justice or ingratitude was effaced by the fragrant 
gift of God. 



THE FIRST HOME. 243 



CHAPTER XXX. 

THE FIRST HOME. 

There are turning-points in the career of each 
individual, when the stream of life seems to take 
a new direction, invigorated by a new principle of 
activity. Thus it is with individuals, thus with 
nations, thus with the human race. To observe 
these, and the circumstances which lead to them, 
and the effect they have upon the formation of the 
character of individuals, nations, and mankind, is 
the exclusive privilege of the human mind; in this 
showinof its divine oriofin. 

When in the hour of night, in manner to me 
unknown, God spoke to me, and showed me my 
true relation to him, all my energies were thrown 
into a new channel. After that, I served him 
truly, but not without remaining attached to 
many prejudices of tradition and early training. 

But now He spoke to itie through the mouth of 
a pious virgin, who, loving me, feared Him. She 
gave herself to me, and gladly consented to be my 
companion for time and eternity. My solitary ex- 
istence was more than doubled in force and energy. 
Now the world was wide open indeed. Wherever 
she was would be my treasure; for He was the 
centre of our mutual affection. Thus I see it now; 
Source of my life! Thus, towards the time 



244 THE FIRST HOME. 

when I was about to leave connections, who knew 
and respected my claims and the honesty of my 
motives, — towards the time when I was forced to 
mingle with a world hard and selfish and uncon- 
genial, — Thou gavest Thy servant a help, whose 
piety would sustain the flame of devotion, and 
whose cheerful energy would be able to withstand 
the pressure of circumstances. 

I came home with all the hopeful buoyancy of 
one whose life is doubled; and, with renewed zeal, 
I undertook my task. All my pupils were there, 
and, notwithstanding my ill-advised step with re- 
gard to the baron's sons, the confidence of those 
who knew me remained strong. But my unau- 
thorized position blighted more and more the 
wholesome growth of the Institute ; and the 
thought of transferring it to the capital of Belgium 
returned with inflexible assiduity. 

I went to Brussels. I saw the pastors of two 
Independent chapels, — the one a Calvinist, the 
other an Arminian; and, through them, made the 
acquaintance of several English families. I felt 
the ground was different. An institute there, 
based on Protestant Christian principles, would be 
the representative of a "sect" tolerated by the 
liberal laws of the country, but yet an anomaly, 
and supported only by the "poor and humble," 
and those foreign residents whose religious views 
happened to coincide with the proselyting tenden- 
cies of the "faithful." I felt it, but not as well 
as I do now; for the zeal of religion overcame my 



THE FIRST HOME. 245 

prudence," until it was chastened and matured by 
disappointments and the teachings of experience. 

From Brussels I went to Lille in France, where 
with the venerable Pastor Marzial I had a long 
and searchinof conference: and I remember manv 
reflections, which then I did not understand, but 
showed clear enough his doubts and fears. For 
he, with Adolphe Monod and others, though 
preaching the blessed truth of Christ, abstained 
from "sects" and "splits." But the conclusion 
was, that I should remove to Brussels. I saw 
Adelaide, too, and spoke to her of my future 
chanofe. 

"Wherever you go," said she," "the blessing of 
God will follow you." 

And we aofreed that towards Christmas we 
should be married. 

On my return to the Hague, I notified the 
parents, that, if allowed by authority, I would 
continue the Institute until the fifteenth of No- 
vember, — the fourth anniversary of its opening; 
and I manifested my purpose to re-open it in 
Brussels on the first of January, 1842. Several 
wished to continue their sons with me, — among 
them the Countess V. L. S., whose son I truly 
loved as my own; and the others regretted my 
decision. 

And now I set to work to have everything 
arranged for our marriage; a thing not easy by 
the law of France in vigor there, — consent of 
parents and grandparents on both sides, or show 



246 THE FIRST HOME. 

that they are no more; certificates of baptism, 
certificates of national militia, etc. Now, with 
the guardian of Adelaide I had not acted properly. 
I had not asked him the permission of addressing 
his ward. He was an old man, and I was wrong 
in this as in many things; and, when I asked his 
consent, he refused. He objected to my religious 
tendencies: but the second guardian, a mother's 
brother, a gallant officer in the army, spoke for 
me; and so, after many letters, I received his con- 
sent. My mother had never seen my bride; but 
she had heard of her, and sent me her blessing. 

The fifteenth of November had come; and I 
took leave of the parents and my pupils, and the 
matron and my faithful servants, and at midnight 
I left West-End Institute; and, when the stage 
proceeded slowly through the residence, the tears 
started in my eyes. Long and faithfully I had 
labored there. Many, many joys and blessings I 
had received; many, many sorrows I had met. 
The warmest and most enthusiastic years of man- 
hood I had passed there in solitary labor, trying 
to build up what in my eyes was noblest and best ; 
and the favor of royalty, and the support of nobil- 
ity, and the esteem of many, had been my portion ; 
then, again, the animadversion of some, and the 
distrust of others, and the time-serving silence of 
fickle royalty. I left with sorrow, but not with- 
out disdain; for the country, where, after years of 
manifest usefulness, I could not obtain the right 
of working for its benefit, seemed no more worthy 
of me. 



THE FIRST HOME. 247 

The road was long and drear}^, and the night 
cold. But, in the morning, I had reached the 
frontier; and, with a heart full of deep emotion, 
I said farewell to the land of my sojournings. 
For the thoughts of night had softened my harsher 
feelings; and, forgetting the evil done me by a few, 
I only remembered the good received from so many. 

A week I spent in Brussels to secure a conven- 
ient house, to see the friends who, I must say, 
w^ere zealous in my undertaking, and to extend the 
circle of my acquaintances. Thence I went to 
France, and came to claim my bride. 

Two sisters were at the head of the Ecole Nor- 
male, then the only Protestant school in Northern 
France. The elder one, to all the wit and spark- 
ling humor of a well-bred lady, joined the knowl- 
edge and learning of thorough scholarship. The 
younger one was stern and strict, true and single- 
minded, but surpassing her sister in devotedness 
to the cause o£ truth. Both, with all their heart, 
loved Adelaide, and, with the Pastor Marzial, 
proved her best and truest friends. 

"Take care of her," they said; "for a treasure 
has been committed to you, — a treasure which to 
appreciate will take you time." 

And with blessing they dismissed her, who had 
become endeared by the eternal bonds of Chris- 
tian love. The Eve of St. Nicholas we passed 
at Mouscron, remembering the St. Nicholas Eve, 
when, years before, I visited with her and her sis- 
ters the stores at Leiden; and in the memories of 



248 THE FIRST HOME. 

the past arose the St. Nicholas Eve, when, twenty 
years before, I stood, a little boy, between my 
father and destruction. These things, I remem- 
bered, faithful God ! and thanked thee. 

From Mouscron Mr. P. accompanied us; for 
over the ancient city of Ghent we had to travel, 
passing the boisterous waters of the Scheldt, until 
we reached Middelburg, on the fertile Island of 
Walcheren. There the brave Capt. D. resided, 
the second guardian of my bride; and there accord- 
ing to law, the marriage had to be performed. 

It was a bright December day; and in the City 
Hall we were received by a brilliant throng of 
officers, who, honoring the uncle, were glad to 
catch a glimpse of the niece. Leaning on his arm 
she moved gracefully on, till she came, in the Au- 
dience Hall, before the grave and dignified mag- 
istrate. Then, leaving her uncle's arm, she placed 
her right hand in mine. The chosen witnesses 
being sworn, the magistrate demanded our free . 
and full consent to the marriage contract, which 
there we subscribed in the huge volume of records; 
and, whilst the witnesses added their names, he 
gave us an admonition strangely composed of the- 
ology and law, but withal impressive. Such was 
the form of civil marriage, without which none is 
valid. The parties may thereafter honor God as 
best they like; but this must go before. 

That day we traveled back to Ghent, and 
thence to Brussels. The honey-moon was short 
indeed; for we set immediately to work to arrange 



THE FIRST HOME. 249 

our house, and prepare it for the opening of the 
Institute in January. 

It was in the pleasant suburb of -Schaerbeck, 
on the prolongation of the beautiful Rue Roy ale, 
the chaussee leading to the royal domain of Laken. 
Localities, like persons, leave their indelible im- 
pressions, which we recall with unaccountable pain 
or pleasure; and this Jirst home of my married es- 
tate I remember in all its details as cheerful. 
The house was newly built, and finished with 
great regard to taste and convenience, command- 
ing a magnificent view over the plain through 
which the narrow Sonne winds its way, and over 
which the railroad car dashes with lightning speed. 
The horizon was wdde and far, but limited by the 
graceful curve of wooded hills, here and there dot- 
ted with villages and hamlets; and, when look-* 
ing down the broad and smoothly-paved chaussee, 
we could descry the verdant parks of Laken, the 
summer residence of royalty. 

Towards Christmas came my pupils from the 
Hague, and others arrived from English families. 
It was no more '*West End"; it was a Protestant 
School, in the midst of a dominant creed. It be- 
came, by force of circumstances, exclusive; and 
there was an attraction in the very uncertainty of 
my position. It was a life of faith from day to day, 
looking out for health and strength. It was a serv- 
ice rendered with more implicit confidence than 
at the Hague. It was, to us at least, a light shin- 
ing in the darkness. Our family worship was more 



250 THE FIRST HOME. 

complete, our prayers were more frequent and fer- 
vent, our perplexities incessant, and our deliver- 
ance such as to make me often sink down on 
my knees, and thank Him, as truly present, w^ith 
words of intense gratitude. 

We soon had an extensive circle of friends of 
various countries, of different social position, but 
all knit together by the love of truth; and yet, O 
Fountain of truth! in that small band of Chris- 
tians, who thought to serve Thee better out of the 
pale of Rome, there was division. For some dis- 
believed ^^ original sin" and ^'election" and "assur- 
ance," and followed the Pastor Boucher, a man of 
talent and somewhat w^orldly wisdom. Others 
gave all the glory to Thy grace, and hoped to ex- 
alt Thy goodness by loudly proclaiming their 
'wickedness; and these followed the conscientious but 
sober teachings of honest Pastor Panchaud. Thus 
were the Christians divided, who in a stricter way 
desired to serve the Lord. For others followed 
the National Church, supported by the State, 
where Rationalism sat enthroned; and others, 
again, the Anglican Chapel which was considered 
as formal. 

And I was perplexed : for, in my simplicity, I 
thought that truth must needs be somewhere ; 
whilst it is nowhere in its fullness, except in God, 
and in Him who came from God. To possess Him 
and to carry Him in an honest heart, is to have 
the truth ; but he who is thus blessed cares not 
for human doctrine. He had rather " know noth- 



THE FIRST HOME. ^ 251 

ing " than to ^^ know wrongly," if that may be called 
knowledge which is a profane splitting of the one 
and holy truth. 

And now I know no more than I did then; but 
this, my ignorance, I call my safety. That He is 
love, I know; for His creation proclaims it, and 
His Word reveals it. But to separate His holy 
unity, I dread ; and how He is just, and how He 
is holy, and how He foreordains, I do not know. 
Thus I think of Thee, immutable Source of our 
existence ! whose love I know in thy eternal Son ; 
and there I rest. 

But then I was more curious, and wished to 
unravel Thy mysteries ; and with my wife. Thy 
gracious gift, I truly began to read part of Thy 
Word, in the hope of being instructed in human 
doctrine. And I remember having read with her, 
day after day, a chapter in the Epistle of Thy 
Apostle Paul to the Ephesians ; and we came to 
the conclusion, that the doctrine of ^^ election" w^as 
the true one ; and we honestly acted upon our 
belief, and joined the Chapel of the Calvinists. 

They were zealous and fervent, keeping strict 
watch over each other ; and I thought that some- 
times their love went so far as to become officious, 
assuming the character of the "busy-bodies" 
mentioned in Scripture. But, on the whole, it 
was a sweet communion, wherein* the fervor of 
religion was not allowed to be quenched by world- 
liness. Besides the pastor and elders, they had 
four exhorters, brethren whom they esteemed gifted 
to the edification of the church ; and I was ap- 



252 THE FIRST HOME. 

pointed one, and, in the humble Chapel of the 
*' Rue Ducale," often prayed and exhorted. To 
these things I look now with astonishment ; for it 
was done in a spirit of simplicity, which knew lit- 
tle of the " visible " pomp and beauty of worship ; 
and if, thereafter, I have found more " stateliness 
and dignity," I have not found more depth of con- 
viction workinof with a sinofle look to the Savior. 
In that unadorned chapel, we met the noble Baron 
Dubois with his family, and the Baroness d'Ane- 
than, and many others reclaimed from unbelief or 
superstition. But near them kneeled the humble 
artisan, and many poor and needy; and by no other 
name they knew each other, than by that of 
*^ brother" or "sister." 

Yet my Institute was narrowed by the step we 
had taken. The chapel "du Boulevard" and the 
" National Church " withdrew their support. Our 
numbers increased but slowly ; and the sphere of 
my usefulness seemed small when compared with 
my aspirations in the Hague. But within was 
peace and happiness. One spirit pervaded the 
whole. Our house, indeed, was a mission ^ where 
even the humble servant-girl became thirsty after 
the waters of life; and our pupils were joyous and 
contented, and some gave signs of spiritual life. 
Truly this first year, wdth many troubles and 
anxieties, left an indelible impression of happiness ; 
and for this I thank Thee, my Creator! for 
having vouchsafed Thy presence in a time when 
everything seemed new, and the course of my life 
took another direction. 



THE DOMINICAN. 253 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE DOMINICAN. 

I WAS just recovering from a severe illness, which 
during two months had laid me on a bed of sick- 
ness with pain and anxiety. The month of May 
was developing all the beauties of a truly gorgeous 
landscape ; when, resting on the balcony, I received 
a note, requesting my presence at the house of 
Mr. Tiddy. He was the agent of the British For- 
eign Bible Society ; a man of action, a good and 
practical Christian. I thought the walk might do 
me good ; and, crossing the hills, I soon arrived 
at his dwelling in the Faubourg de Namur. 

Mr. Tiddy received me in his study with more 
than common seriousness ; for, though a Puritan 
in creed, he was one who ^ ^enjoyed " life, and, with 
his numerous family, presented a perfect picture 
of En owlish comfort. 

" Here is a case," said he, '^rather strange and 
startling, and wherein we want your counsel and 
assistance. A Dominican monk, escaped from the 
convent at Ghent, has come to Pastor Panchaud, 
and tells a tale of sorrow and oppression, and pen- 
itent-seeking after truth. He is a Pole from Liv- 
onia, speaks French and German, and seems a 
well-informed man. In great anxiety, he needs an 
asylum where he maybe sure against surprise. We 



254: THE DOMINICAN. 

thought of you. Perhaps you can employ him : 
and with you he would be safe in more than one 
respect. See him, and then judge." 

The monk was introduced. He was a man of 
almost gigantic stature, a little awkward in his 
ill-suited clothes, but withal of commanding aspect, 
dark complexion, with large intelligent eyes, 
though somewhat bewildered expression. He 
repeated shortly what Mr. Tiddy had said, and 
showed his "begging-pass;" wherein it was stated 
'* that Brother Ignacius was allowed to be absent 
from the convent at Ghent during eight days, on 
condition of begging for the community." And 
that was all the man could show ; that was all he 
had in the world to identify himself. I remember 
having been amazed at a system, which, in a civil- 
ized country, deprived a man of talent and moral 
worth, of allj of his name, of his identity, to send 
him on a "begging expedition." I offered him 
my house, and occupation, should he like it ; and 
he thankfully accepted. When I came home, my 
wife was rather astonished at the novel guest, for 
whom she had to prepare a room ; but she did it 
cheerfully, and with delicate attention. 

The following morning, when I spoke to her a 
few words in a language I thought unknown to 
him, he said, with a peculiar gravity and quietness, 
"Sir, allow me two remarks: the first is, that there 
is no European language wherewith I am not suf- 
ficiently acquainted to understand it when spoken; 
the second is, that T am anxious to make myself 
useful in the school in any manner you may choose." 



THE DOMINICAN. 255 



ft 



I could not but admire the delicacy of feeling 
which dictated the two remarks ; and concluded 
that the gigantic friar, who possessed nothing but 
a *' begging-pass," was a ^* gentleman." 

His learninof was extensive in lanoj-uao^es, liter- 
ature, theology, and sciences ; nor was he unac- 
quainted with the fine arts, being an excellent 
judge of music and an exquisite draughtsman. 
He seemed at home in all parts of the world, and 
in his conversation showed the reserve of conscious 
knowledge, with a refined appreciation of circum- 
stances and character. I gained his confidence ; 
for I gave him mine : and though he used to avoid 
even an allusion to times past, and shrank from 
the appearance of boasting, ^^et I succeeded in 
gathering from him the details w^hich follow : — 

He had assumed the name of Loven; being the 
first half of his real name. He was the eldest son 
of the Count von Lovenhaupt, a Livonian noble- 
man, whose brother, at that very time, was a mem- 
ber of the Kussian cabinet. When eight years of 
age, he was sent to a college in Poland, and edu- 
cated as the future heir of princely wealth. Of 
his younger brother he seldom spoke; but to his 
only sister he clung with tender admiration. 

''How well I remember," he said, with a voice 
stifiled by^emotion, " the rides on horseback we 
took together when spending the holidays at home! 
It is now nineteen years since last I saw her. 
Faithfully she has Avritten to me; but even her 
letters are gone. I have nothing now but the bit- 
ter regret of what my life might have been." 



256 THE DOMINICAN. 

Whilst at the colleofe, his thouofhts were con- 
stantly drawn towards a **rehgious" life. His 
natural disposition was serious, and, I should say, 
rather heavy. It seems that his educators en- 
couraged him in his "religious" tendency; thus 
at least he spoke of it; and, when he was eigh- 
teen years of age, he declared his wish to enter 
the order of the Dominicans. The eldest son and 
heir of such a family, with wealth and influence 
fabulous in Western Europe, to give up his name 
and rank, and riches, and to become, in the spring 
of life, a poor and insignificant friar in some Polish 
cloister, seemed madness; but neither the entreaties 
of his sister, nor the stern refusal of his father, 
could overcome his resolution to " seek salvation" 
in the order of St. Dominic. With faltering voice, 
he narrated to me the last interview with his as- 
sembled family. Nineteen years had passed since 
the day, when, for the last time, he stood amid 
the splendor of his house, and there resigned his 
•rights to his younger brother, and, leaving his 
name and kindred, became an obscure monk. 

He wandered to the nearest convent, and was 
received. After a few years, he was sent to Italy; 
and, in Milan, was made Professor of Confession. 
His was the charge to train the younger clergy in 
the science of "hearing confessions," — a science 
requiring tact and discrimination. After four 
years, he was sent to Pome, where he became one 
of the assistant-librarians of the Vatican, — a post 
for which his linguistic knowledge fitted him ex- 



THE DOMINICAN. 257 

ceedingly. There he had access to the depart- 
ment exclusively consecrated to the ^^ heretical" 
publications, which, under lock and key, are acces- 
sible to none. His inquisitive mind began to roam 
in the extensive storehouse, where the fruit of the 
forbidden tree of knowledge was hoarded up since 
centuries, — enough to perplex the strongest mind; 
and his was a str.onof one, and from childhood cul- 
tivated with utmost care. But doubts beofan to 
arise. Rome was not infallible; Rome was gain- 
said by men of deep and far-reaching intelligence; 
and, in the dusty reading-rooms of the ancient 
Vatican, — in the stronofhold of the world-rulinof 
power, — the Dominican friar began to chafe un- 
der the pressure of self-imposed chains. 

He was not alone. An American bishop, sent 
to the southern States of Peru and Chili with a 
mission of restoring the ^'semblance" of discipline 
where immorality and vice had reached the cul- 
minating point, and now in Rome to receive in- 
structions, had been touched by the same impres- 
sions, and moved by the same harassing doubts. 

But the Dominican, poor and unknown, had a 
struggle of which we scarcely have a conception, 
— the sacrifice of rank and wealth and honors, 
nineteen years of voluntary poverty, passed in 
roaming from north to south, — all for that which 
now he believed to be an error. 

As he repeatedly refused to preach on the sub- 
ject of the intercessory office of the Blessed Virgin, 
he was suspected of heterodoxy, and finally con- 

17 



258 THE DOMINICAN. 

fined in a convent near the Inquisition. There he 
remained a close prisoner during seven long months. 
At last, he seemed to have found sympathy : and 
one of his keepers agreed to place a ladder under 
his window, whereby to escape. It was midnight 
when he began his descent ; but scarcely had he 
taken his position on the ladder, when it was drawn 
from under him. With fractured skull he lay 
many weeks in danger. His mind was affected, 
and had never recovered its usual strength. He 
took my hand, and made me lay my finger in the 
gash, — a frightful memento of treason ; for this, 
more than all, affected him even then, — that he 
in whom he confided had thus treacherously at- 
tempted to take his life. 

When slowly recovering, he was at the point of 
being transferred to the prisons of the Inquisition. 
Once there, his doom was sealed. But, in that 
time of anguish, there came relief; for the Amer- 
ican bishop, whom I mentioned before, succeeded 
in obtaining his release. He was, said he, weak 
of mind, and, if confided to his care, would soon 
recover, not only health, but also his right percep- 
tion of the faith. Over Germany, he had to travel 
to Antwerp, there to embark for Peru; and, if the 
Dominican was allowed to be his companion, he 
would see him safe in one of the convents of Bel- 
gium. Thus it was arranged ; and thus he traveled, 
and arrived in Ghent. 

But the treatment he had received, and the 
conversations with the enlightened bishop, and 



THE DOMINICAN. 259 

the journey through Protestant countries, con- 
firmed him in his aversion for a creed to which he 
had devoted all. '^ I could not live," said he ; ''I 
could not die. From my sister I have not heard 
for more than two years : she has succeeded to the 
estates of my deceased brother ; and I have none 
in the world whom I can pame my friend. A 
pamphlet of Pastor Panchaud on the Poman con- 
troversy came into my hands. To him I wished 
to go, and asked a begging-pass ; and here I am, 
a wreck in everv sense." 

Thus he narrated to me his story at various 
times. If there is anything untrue or exaggerated, 
the blame is his. But he lived seven months under 
my roof; and I frequently overheard, without his 
knowledge, his prayers uttered in the hour of night. 
They were the prayers of one wrestling with God; 
they were prayers deep, serious, and searching. 
And his conduct was uniform; nor did I ever dis- 
cover the sliofhtest deviation from truth in other 
things, but rather a simplicity strangely combined 
with a hiofh and delicate sense of honor. The 
native dignity of man seemed to have been strug- 
gling for life, and now re-asserted its ^Unalienable 
right." 

I sympathized with him. We both had sacri- 
ficed worldly prospects to what we esteemed best, 
but with different result ; and, comparing his for- 
lorn position with mine, I could not but grieve for 
him, and be thankful to God for myself Yet, 
although we did all in our power to comfort him, 
he seemed to become more and more restless and 



260 THE DOMINICA'N. 

anxious : he was in constant fear of being surprised. 
Whether there was real cause, or past sufferings 
excited his imagination, I cannot tell ; but he at 
last conceived himself the object of secret spies, 
who watched his going-out and coming-in. Not a 
bell rung, but he started in dismay. Our friends 
thought best to procure him a passport to England ; 
and there he went, towards fall, with letters of 
recommendation to good and pious families. 

Thence he wrote me several times, and his let- 
ters were full of affection and gratitude. It seemed 
to me, that in the Church of England he found a 
more congenial temper, more order, and less divis- 
ion, than among the Protestants at Brussels. How 
it affected him thereafter, I do not know; for I 
lost sight of him, and the Dominican is among the 
many remembrances of the Old World. 

But, at that time, his appearance made a strange 
impression on my mind. He was to me as the 
embodiment of a system; and I judged the whole 
by one individual case, which was an unfair means 
of attaining the truth. I forgot the thousands of 
holy-and self-devoted men, who humbly and suc- 
cessfully labored within that system; and too de- 
sirous of finding what might be called absolute 
truth, I thought that opposition to the dominant 
Church was paramount to duty. 

Whilst I was nourishing my mind with these re- 
flections, profitable to none, and least to myself, the 
tidinofs came that the Pastor of ^'the Witness" 
had arrived on a missionary tour, and, that even- 
ing, would preach in our chapel. 



THE DOMINICAN. 261 

I was ill, and could not go; but Adelaide went, 
with eager expectation, and desirous of seeing the 
venerable man of whom I had told her so often. 
To a crowded audience he preached one of those 
stirring sermons, wherein love was so singularly 
blended with serious appeal. Adelaide was 
moved; and, after service, came up to him, and, 
taking his hand, said with tearful eye, '^I am the 
wife of Leno." And with endearinof- love, foldinof 
her in his arms, he said, "Then you are my daugh- 
ter, indeed; for Leno is my son." When she wept 
on his bosom, knowing all, and loving him for my 
sake, he gave her words of comfort, and, with her, 
came to see me. 

Shall I forget the days he passed with us, — 
his cheerful talk, so full of wit, and overrunning 
with God-fearing love; the spirit of confidence he 
poured into my heart; the prayers he prayed with 
us ? Shall I forget the tender interest he took in 
our affairs, and how he strengthened our arms ? 
and how, and after he left, we felt as if a new spirit 
had entered the house, and we could endure all and 
overcome all? 

Thus the first year of our married state drew to 
an end, with pleasant remembrances of happy days, 
of duties faithfully performed, of difficulties gone 
through, of visits received from many Christian 
friends; and, though our Institute increased slow- 
ly, it was a cheerful household, where the seeds 
were sown surely and effectually, because faithful- 
ness was the watchword, and reliance the moving 
power. 



262 A TEMPTATION. 



CHAPTEE XXXII. 

A TEMPTATION. 

It was the month of January, when winter for 
a time seems to mar the beauty of nature, allow- 
ing rest to the bountiful earth and the fruit-bear- 
ing trees; and everything is blank and cheerless, 
except home, sweet home. And mine was sweet 
indeed; for Adelaide had given me a gift, which 
to this day I possess, though once the Author of 
of his life laid him low on the couch of sickness, 
reminding me of the Giver. Who but a father knows 
the blessing bestowed in the first-born; — the joy- 
ful happiness and nameless pride; the beam of 
liofht which seems to illuminate the humblest 
dwelling, as if, from upper regions, a little stran- 
ger had arrived to cheer and to console, and to 
give a fresh and better impulse to our worldly 
minds? 

When the mother had recovered her strength, 
we humbly walked to our chapel; for there he 
would be dedicated to our God in the holy sacra- 
ment of baptism. It was a frosty morning, and 
the walk was long ; but I remember it as yester- 
day. The care for the mother, whom now I loved 
with double reverence; the care for the slumbering 
babe, whom I received from thee, O Author of my 
life! the Christian friends, who truly rejoiced for 



A TEMPTATION. 263 

nle; the pastor's sermon, who faithfully explained 
the word of God, — I remember it all. And when 
the congregation had retired, in the presence of a 
few friends the minister called upon God, and, in 
the power of the Holy Trinity, gave him the name 
of the Pastor of the Witness: for to him I looked 
as to my spiritual father; and, disregarding line- 
age and ancestor's names, I wished my first-born 
to bear his name whom both my wife and myself 
loved and revered. 

But among the friends was not the pastor's wife; 
a devoted, pious Christian, whose law was charity. 
Yet she could not consent to sanction by her pres- 
ence what she considered a sin; for she was a Bap- 
tist, and, though faithfully laboring with her con- 
scientious husband, did not believe that God would 
make a covenant with unconscious innocence. I 
remember how it struck and grieved me. But 
little did I think, that a year thereafter, I should 
do worse, and deny what I had done, and deny 
the virtue of that holy ceremony, because, forsooth, 
the minister had not received, what he could not 
receive, the imposition of a bishop's hands. 
strange inconsistency ! I then blamed what I 
called bigotry, and thereafter blamed what I had 
done myself, and denied my own baptism and that 
of all my ancestors. Thus the baptism of my first- 
born in the humble chapel of Bue Ducale, by the 
hands of an humble minister of God, has become 
to me a lesson of charity. For which was worse, her 
quiet withdrawing, with marks of sympathy, from 



264 A TEMPTATION. 

what she thought an error; or my ruthless deny- 
ing the efficacy of the water consecrated by prayer, 
because the minister had not been episcopally or- 
dained? my God! this sin Thou hast also for- 
given me; for truly in ignorance did I sin, believ- 
ing to serve Thee according to thy Word. 

And now came a time of anxious thousfht and 
perplexity; for, when I was rejoicing in the new 
blessing bestowed, on a Sunday evening I received 
a visit from Pietro Gaggia. He was an Italian 
refugee, who, in the political struggles of 1824, 
had escaped the penalty of death, and, in Brussels, 
succeeded in building up an institute remarkable 
for thoroughness and wide range of learning. 
There Gioberti, who afterwards became a minis- 
ter of state in Turin, taught historical sciences; 
and Quetelet, one of the university . professors, 
lectured on astronomy. The number of pupils once 
had reached nearly two hundred and fifty; and 
many were the men, civilians and military, who 
there had received their education. But the ten- 
dency was ultra-liberal, and bordering on infidelity; 
a natural consequence of direct opposition to the 
clerical party of the dominant creed. That party, 
through the energy of the Archbishop of Mechlin, 
was in the ascendant; and the institute was losinof 
ground. Though strongly supported by men of 
eminence and learning, it needed, as it were, a new 
infusion of vigor, and the direction of a younger 
and less disappointed head. For Pietro Gaggia 
was aged, and had seen times of trouble and want, 



A TEMPTATION. 265 

followed by success now on the wane; and, with 
cunning and shrewdness, he had a liberal disposi- 
tion, showing kindness to many who repaid him 
with neglect. He came to me with confidence, 
and proposed to associate our efforts and influence, 
to combine the two institutions into one; offering 
me the direction, half the profits, and the loss, if 
any, to be on his account. 

The proposal startled me. To make a partner- 
ship in the noble task of education, and give it thus 
the form of a regular "money-making business," 
was to me a novelty. I shrunk from it ; for, what- 
ever had been my success, with a single eye to 
God I had worked, thinking more of doing Him 
service than of providing for the future. If this 
was an error, it was a venial one. But there was 
more. Pietro Gaggia was an unbeliever. Though 
respecting the forms of religion, he did not believe 
the truth ; and in his prospectus he clearly declared 
"that religion, being the work of God, and not of 
men, was none of his business." This I knew; and 
I candidly told him, that, with me, religion w^as 
the basis whereon to build. He approved of my 
frankness, and thought a little more of it might do 
no harm. 

"But," said he, "it is not only you I Avant : it 
is your wife. By what I hear, she will be able 
to impart to the Institute that tone which mine 
can never give. Believe me, there is a mutual ad- 
vantage in the combination. I give a house and 
material, than which none can be better, with a 



266 A TEMPTATION. 

goodly number of scholars, and old relations in 
in England, France, and America : you give your 
numbers and relations and learning and youth, and 
last, but not least, the magical influence of an 
accomplished lady." 

Thus saying, he left me ; and I went to the 
partner of my life to ask her opinion. Well do 
I remember that evening. Yet weak, and slowly 
recovering, her beaming eye showed her anxiety to 
know what kept me so long away ; and when I 
told her, she said, — 

" No, Leno ! no ! God has blessed us thus far; 
why distrust him ?" 

Thus she spoke slowly, and deliberately : and her 
words found an echo in my heart ; for it was the 
voice of God. It was the right decision, made at 
once by woman's prophetic instinct, perceiving as 
by intuition the true issue of the case. Happy 
the man who has such a counselor ! Happier he 
who abides by her first advice ! Had I done so, 
it would have saved me bitterness and disappoint- 
ment. 

To my letter announcing our refusal of the pro- 
posed union, I received an answer courteous and 
polite, by its kindly tone impressing me with some 
regret for having discarded the co-operation of one 
so experienced and so considerate. It is strange 
how the slightest shade will affect, when principle 
is no more the only rule of action ! I saw him 
often, without the knowledge of Adelaide. Ob- 
stacles seemed to disappear, difficulties to be re- 



A TEMPTATION. 267 

moved. I began to ask the advice of others, 
ah^eady half decided what to do ; for the more ex- 
tended sphere of action tempted me, and the hope, 
the foolish hope, of grafting my religious principles 
on a tree so wild, deceived me. The Pastor of the 
Witness wrote me words of warning ; but the hon- 
est minister of our chapel, whose son was one of 
my pupils, came to a different conclusion. He 
saw, to use a favorite expression, " a door opened," 
a means of doing good on larger scale, and of sow- 
ing the seed of grace broadcast. Strengthened by 
his authority, I prevailed upon Adelaide to recon- 
sider her first opinion ; next, to assist at an inter- 
view with Pietro Gaggia ; and her better judgment 
was biased by his plausible arguments, whilst the 
advice of friendship and the preference of a hus- 
band finally decided her opinion. The contract 
was drawn up ; and on the first day of March, 
1843, our institutions would be united, and we 
should assume our more responsible duties. 

But when the day came of breaking up our 
cheerful and well-organized household, wherein 
refinement kept pace with real comfort; when the 
daily prayers, making a church of our home, had 
to cease ; when my pupils, accustomed to submis- 
sion and regularity, had to mingle with a crowd of 
students of all nations and creeds ; when I took 
my final leave of the pleasant home, which had 
been consecrated by the remembrance of so many 
joys and deliverances, — then I began to realize the 
step I had taken ; and, finding the Institute of 



268 A TEMPTATION. 

Pietro Gaggia in a state of confusion and anarchy 
difficult to describe, I must confess, that for some 
days I was disheartened, and began to feel the 
consequences of my presumption. 

My wrong I felt and confessed, and asked for 
strength ; for, though I had left the path of simple 
duty, now it was my duty to do my best. Happy 
time, when, with the confidence of a child, I could 
confess my error, and truly feel that I was for- 
given ! Then I began to work and regulate, and 
in this was powerfully assisted by her whom the 
Pastor of the Witness used to call my "valiant" 
wife. A few weeks had elapsed, when the Insti- 
tute had lost its "decaying" appearance. It 
seemed to start with fresh and renewed vigor, and, 
with its seventy pupils and eighteen professors, 
ranked first among those who were known as op- 
posing the dominant party. 



THE "JOSEPHINE." 269 



CHAPTEE XXXIII. 

THE ''JOSEPHINE." 

But, as I have said before, the dominant party, 
now strengthened by the marriage of King Leo- 
pold with Orlean's royal daughter, was in the as- 
cendant; and the natural disposition of the people 
favored its pretensions. Colleges, under the direc- 
tion of the company of Jesus, increased rapidly in 
number and importance; and the numerous aris- 
tocracy gave them countenance. The cause of 
evangelical Protestantism was absorbed in the per- 
petually increasing splits and divisions amongst its 
advocates. In France, at least, the Protestants 
form a national body, with more than two millions 
of adherents. In Belgium, their whole number 
does not exceed a few thousands. They are con- 
sidered anomalous, intrusive; and the national 
feelinof ofoes ao^ainst them, as a remembrance of the 
much-disliked Batavian dominion. 

Pietro Gaggia had stood a long series of years 
under its protecting shade, backed by the rampant 
seeds of infidelity. With the increasing prepon- 
derance of Catholicity, his Institute had lost its 
popularity. He sought my alliance; but the de- 
cided tone of religious opposition, which I gave to 
the Institute, created a more violent counteraction 
than his infidelity. For this was dying its natural 



270 THE '^ JOSEPHINE." 

death; but the new life which I brought into the 
Institution gave it a vigor and a name, which pro- 
duced, amongst others, jealously and envy. 

Yet there was neither king nor magistrate, who 
could, as in Holland, order me to desist; but there 
was perhaps more,— the unceasing activity of an 
extensive party, having its ramifications in all the 
ranks of society, from the highest aristocracy to 
the humblest servant-girl. 

Several months we labored, and I never labored 
more; and, for. a time, it seemed as if the Institute, 
so perfectly organized, so liberal in its provisions, 
might become the beneficent representative of a 
principle which had become the chief aim of my 
life. But my friends, as well as myself, perceived 
soon that outward influence was bearing hard 
against us, and my soul became wearied with 
anxiety. 

To serve Him according to my convictions had 
been my steady aim, — to serve Him. in the training 
of youth, or, better still, in preaching the gospel. 
Of worldly advantages, I had, as yet, never thought; 
and though the Institute might promise, in future 
time, a reward for labor, it could not be, I saw, 
unless relaxing in what I deemed a sacred princi- 
ple. If I was wrong, I was honest. If I pre- 
sumed, I did it with a single view to the kingdom 
of God. In Holland, royal caprice and party 
spirit had driven me out. In Belgium, a dominant 
creed, national and popular, crowded me out as an 
, intruder and innovator. 



THE "JOSEPHINE." 271 

Then it was that I began with ardent desire to 
look after '^liberty;" and America, with its free 
institutions, loomed up on the horizon of my im- 
aofination, as the land where I miHit work with 
untrammeled freedom. The early impressions 
received from my father, in whose boyhood the 
War of Independence was fought ; the enthusiastic 
study of history, and not least of Botta's classical 
work, — environed America with a halo of glory, 
which attracted me with irresistible force. 

The Pastor of the Witness sent me letters to 
Enofland, where he advised me to seek the Kev. 
Dr. Buroi-ess, a man of wealth and influence. 
Some of my friends held out the prospect of useful 
missionary work in France. Others insisted 
strongly on my continuing my work in Belgium. 
For a time, my mind was perplexed. But it 
turned from anything which Europe then could 
oSer; and, with magical force, the shores of 
America continued to attract me. 

When I consulted Adelaide, she was averse to 
crossing the ocean, to seek, in a world to us un- 
known, what we had enjoyed and might yet enjoy, — 
the happiness of family-life, not out of reach of 
our many friends and relations. But I, with un- 
accountable tenacity, clung to my purpose ; and 
we set to work to bring it into execution. 

I wrote to all my friends ; and from the Pastor 
of the Witness, from dAubigne, from Mark Wil- 
lis, and many others, I received letters of recom- 
mendation and introduction. Then came the time 



272 THE "JOSEPHINE." 

of separation from my pupils. One of them was 
very dear to us. William Trip was the last who 
left, — the last of those for whom I had worked 
many years ; and for the last time we prayed in 
our humble chapel, and one by one they gave us 
their "Dieu vous henisse!" And on the fifteenth 
of June, having taken a last walk in the beautiful 
park, we left for Antwerp. 

There I met a friend, whom in these memoirs 
I have never mentioned, though, since 1831, we 
were united by the bonds of intimacy, only not 
strengthened by communion of faith. For Alfred 
Bailey was the best son, the most devoted brother, 
and the most excellent friend, I ever knew ; but 
he could not receive the truth as revealed in God's 
holy Word. Of English parentage, he joined to 
rectitude of intentions a delicacy of feeling which 
never was at fault ; and now he came traveling 
far, once more to see us. 

When we went on board the Bremen brig "Jo- 
sephine," lying in the stream before the ancient 
city, he staid with us a few days ; and to him we 
remitted our farewell letters to mother, sister, and 
sweet Eleonore. As I embraced him, and saw 
him depart in the little boat, it seemed that in him 
I took leave of many good and noble men. I see 
yet his serious, honest face steadily turned towards 
the "Josephine" to behold the friends he truly 
loved, until, waving his hand for the last time, he 
was soon out of sight. Eighteen years have gone 
by, — half the time we knew each other ; but still 



THE "JOSEPHINE." 273 

he is the same ; and I may say, what few can 
truly sa}^, ^^ Amongst men I have found a friend." 

On the twenty-second of June, we weighed 
anchor, and began to descend the rapid Scheldt; 
but the wind was adverse and cold, and only on 
the twenty-sixth, we saw for the last time the 
vanishing outlines of the coast of France. 

With my boy in my arms, I watched them long, 
with feelings impossible to describe ; for, I left 
many, many warm-hearted friends, and on the oth- 
er side of the broad Atlantic I had as yet none. 
He who leaves his country becomes an exile thrown 
upon the kindness of those on whom he has no 
claim. Folding the unconscious babe in my arms, 
I went down to my wife, who was ill and suifering ; 
and, taking my Bible, I read the Psalm so consol- 
inof and encouraoinof for the traveler : "I will lift 
up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh 
my help." 

18 



274 CONCLUSION. 



CONCLUSION. 



Here I must leave my narrative, running 
through the space of thirty years. The Old World, 
with its good and evil, was left behind; and, in 
the meridian of life, I sought rest in the Great 
Hepublic of the New. How there I found friends 
and work and trouble; how the hand of God guided 
me to become a minister of his Word, and a Mis- 
sionary to the shores of the Pacific; what there I 
saw, and partly experienced; what calamities, 
what blessings; what anxieties, what deliverances; 
what heart-stirring incidents of indomitable ener- 
gy and magnanimous liberality, — truly my pen 
might easily record. Yet I lay it down, with ex- 
cusable hesitation, lest I might weary the few who 
have patientl}^ perused these pages. Should they, 
however, against my expectation, find favor enough 
to encourage me, I shall then record, to my best 
remembrance, the years of my checkered life in the 
New World. 

"What a life has been yours!" thus wrote to me 
the venerable Pastor of the Witness some two years 
ago. " But have you not traveled a spiral to 
come where the providence of God might have led 
you in a direct line?" 



CONCLUSION. 275 

The Pastor of the Witness said true; but I am 
willing to lay open the windings of that life, that 
others may profit by it, and, with a single eye to 
God, hold the straighter line. 

June, 1860. 



THE END OF PART I. 



Checkered Life. 



PART II. 



CHECKERED LIFE/ 



CHAPTER I. 

CROSSING THE ATLANTIC. ' 

Light and swift enough was the ^^ Josephme/' but 
heavy and contrary were the winds. And when 
she had turned at last the British triangle, we 
went north and north to avoid the Gulf stream. 

On the third of July, 1843, an American schooner 
passed us like a bird. It hailed us: '^From Prov- 
idence in twenty-one days." I thought the omen 
good. For truly I was under the care of Provi- 
dence, and that first American vessel we met, 
seemed a messenger of welcome to the confiding 
stranger. 

And scarcely was the light nutshell out of hail- 
ing distance, when up came a stately English brig, 
which passed us in disdain, and did not answer 
the captain's speaking-trumpet. ^^John" was the 
name on the stern. In somewhat morose humor, 
I thought her a fit representative of the Old 
World, and hastened wdth renewed confidence to 
the land where Providence lies. 

The following day was the fourth of July, a date 
emblazoned in the annals of humanity. The birth 



280 CROSSING THE ATLANTIC. 

of freedom, not for one nation, but for a nation to 
be the mother of nations. It passed unheeded, 
for who on board the Bremen bark remembered 
it? Yet, well they might! For among that 
crowd of steerage passengers, how many escaping 
the thraldom of poverty and ignorance, transmitted 
from generation to generation ! Men, women and 
children from the towns and villages of northern 
Germany, with scarcely enough to cover and feed 
them. Their only faith was in the great American 
Republic, where they would find air to breathe, soil 
to labor, and laws to protect. This they knew. But 
of the Fourth of July they did not know. And if 
they had been told, they would have stared. As 
well speak of light to the blind. None but those 
who breathe the air of freedom, know what free- 
dom is. 

Yet, among that miserable crowd of suffering, 
ill-used, ill-governed, ill-educated humanity, there 
was a mother, whose sorrow I even now remember 
with deep compassion. She had a nursing babe of 
five months old, but illness dried the source of the 
life-giving stream, and soon the babe, from plump 
and rosy, became a half-starved skeleton. 

And one night a storm arose, fierce and howling, 
and in the short intervals I could hear the moan- 
ing child and impassionate hushing of the mother. 
Then came the father, rough and harsh, but now 
overcome with sorrow, for the child was dying ; 
and from the captain he requested the loan of a 
lamp, to see his child. But the captain, anxious 



CROSSING THE ATLANTIC. 281 

by danger, replied rudely : '^ It might as well die 
in the dark." Yet I prevailed, and with a lantern 
accompanied the father to the crowded lower deck, 
and there remained until the babe had gasped its 
last. It was a sad night, and when I returned to 
my cabin, and found my firstborn sound asleep, I 
felt sorrowful gratitude. For he, too, could no 
more drink from the mother's fountain : but it 
was God's will that he should be preserved. 

And when the following day the little babe was 
let overboard, neither father nor mother were 
there. But the day thereafter, and many days, 
the mother used to sit on the same spot, looking 
in the vast deep as one would look upon a grave. 
And when I spoke words of comfort to her, she 
did not receive them; for her mind was darkened, 
and her sorrow natural. 

The whole month of July we passed in strug- 
Gflinof- aof-ainst heaw head winds, and twice we 
narrowly escaped from destruction. 

One morning, when thick and heavy fogs covered 
the ocean, and the vessel, with burning lantern, 
plowed heavily its way, a crushing sound awoke 
us. A large vessel had crossed our bowsprit carry- 
ing it away, and thus we were within a few yards of 
destruction, for had the vessel struck us amidships, 
we must have foundered immediately. 

And a week before we arrived at New York, a 
heavy storm arose suddenly in the midst of night. 
I slept soundly with my little son in the lower 
cabin. A violent shock awoke me suddenly, and 



282 CROSSING THE ATLANTIC. 

I beheld with terror the curtains in flames, and the 
cabin full of smoke. For a fellow-passenger had 
imprudently left a burning candle on the floor, 
which, by the jerking of the vessel, had slid towards 
the curtain. I awoke just in time. A minute 
later, and we might have been destroyed by fire. 
These cases of providential preservation, I gladly 
remember. Truly, our life is full of them. But 
we live, as if there were no Providence; and lacking 
gratitude, we are deficient in trust. 

At last a pilot-boat hove in view, and the first 
'^ive American" with whom I came in contact, was 
the nimble sharp-sighted pilot, who took command 
of our vessel; under his hand it seemed to take 
new life. He soon steered us to port, and, with 
feelings unaccountable, we beheld on the fourteenth 
of Ausfust, the heiof-hts of Neveir-sink land. And 
soon the green shores and white dwellings of Long 
Island and Staten Island passed before our 
greedy eyes, which for two long months had seen 
nothing but the endless expanse of the ocean. 
And, at last, in the afternoon, the "Josephine" 
cast anchor near the quarantine. 

I went on shore to buy some fruit and bread 
and milk, to rejoice my wife and child. And 
when we had satisfied these cravings of nature, 
we put our babe to bed. I remember kneeling 
down with my dear wife, and in loud prayer truly 
calling upon God. For to us it was a long voy- 
age ; and in a new and unknown world we were 
poor, and the future, always mysterious, was dark, 
but for the shining torch of our faith. 



PELHAM PRIORY. 283 



CHAPTEE 11. 

PELHAM PRIORY. 

First impressions are sometimes true, but oftener 
prove not so, because not* always made on minds 
unruffled. When, on the following day, I sat with 
wife and child on the " Stat en Islander," steaming 
with rapid strokes to the Metropolis of the West, 
I felt the chill of loneliness and lack of sympathy. 
Crowded was the deck with ^^ ladies," though in- 
stinct told me that all were not so, and that I was 
in the atmosphere of *^ moneyed aristocracy." Lan- 
guid and observing of self seemed those ladies, 
but none had a word of sympathy for the stranger 
who, with her babe on her lap, came thousands of 
miles. 

Thus I remember having thought at that time, 
and having observed to my companion how differ- 
ent it would be if a stranger came to old Europe. 
I now must smile. Yet the feeling was true and 
natural, and to this day a "stranger" has a right 
on me, just for being a stranger. But soon we 
came to the noisy hive of nations, and found our 
way to Mondon's "Hotel Francais." For with 
nervous instinct the stranger is apt to cling, as 
long as possible, to what he is accustomed to. 
And from there I set out on the following day to 
visit Dr. G. Burke, for whom I had a letter of in- 



284 PELHAM PRIORY. 

troduction. His wife was a Geneva lady, whose 
parents, neighbors of the pastor of the Witness, 
I knew. In him I found an upright, warm-hearted 
friend, a Christian gentleman, who received me 
stately but kindly. And he introduced me to 
others, where I was well received. But there 
seemed to be a sameness in all. A certain outward 
appearance, making men and women, and houses 
and parlors all alike, without the individuality to 
which I was accustomed in Europe. 

' And this was the general impression I received, 
as far as I can remember, all over the metropolis. 
A great sameness, and perhaps, in consequence of 
it, a great want of excitement, transforming com- 
mon things into a sort of romance. For romance 
is the natural atmosphere of the world, especially, 
of the more refined sex. Even the poor foreigner, 
seeking his bread by selling his knowledge of lan- 
guages, for a while was transformed into a politi- 
cal refugee, a victim of tyranny! And I gave 
lessons in Italian to a young lady, the only heiress 
of a great fortune, homely, but romantic. And 
the mother kept strict watch until she knew I was 
the husband of a handsome wife. But even then 
the pupil would have me an Italian refugee,, and 
hesitated accepting the gift of my copy of Silvio's 
^^Priggioni," because she knew so many recollec- 
tions must be connected with the little volume. 

Yet pleasant are to me the recollections of those 
first introductions into a world so new to me. 
And when at last we were settled in a "boarding 



PELHAM PRIORY. 285 

house," that essentially American institution, so 
full of mischief, I remember the amazement where- 
with we beheld the dispatch of meals, the political 
talk between whigs and democrats, the north and 
south so strongly marked, the religious discussions 
amongst Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Bap- 
.tists, Episcopalians, Unitarians, Israelites, Infidels, 
all at the same table. It was new to us and per- 
plexing. 

From Merle d'Aubigne, the historian, I had 
received an introduction to his elder brother, 
established in New York, an active enterprising 
merchant. And he, with his wife and amiable 
children, received me as a brother of d'Aubigne 
should do. He brought me once to John B. As- 
ter, then perhaps the richest man in the world, for 
whom I had a letter. I found him old and crip- 
pled, and very near taking leave of his worldly 
riches. Another time he took me to Flushing, 
where the Bev. S. presided over St. Ann's Hall, 
the first school for young ladies which I saw. It 
seemed to me like a dream. So much outward 
appearance; costly furniture; large parlors; green- 
houses; covered walks; the ladies all in silk, sweep- 
ing by like queens; and the reverend principal 
himself dressed in latest style. It made a strange 
impression upon me. And I thought that if the 
internal answered to the external, those scholars 
must be very accomplished indeed. 

After that I visited many others with a view to 
obtain employment. For my means drew to an 



286 PELHAM PRIORY. 

end, and I often looked upon my wife and babe, 
just recovering from deadly struggle brought on 
by change of climate, with feelings of deep concern. 

And one afternoon, in the beginning of Septem- 
ber, I came home from my wanderings, and found 
my wife, with tearful eye, rejoiced. ^^I sat," said 
she, ^^ooking through the window, inwardly pray- 
ing God to have pity upon us, when a lady rang 
the bell, and asked after you. I went to see her. 
She Avas the daughter of the Rev. Bolton, who 
wishes to engage you at his Institute at Pelham. 
Who sent her, I do not knoAv ; but she was so glad 
to find you ; and I promised you would go to-mor- 
row, to see her father. 

And I remember having embraced my faithful 
companion with joy. And the source of joy I 
remember very well. Not so much, the prospect 
of needed help, as the token of ^ Sprayer answered." 
Thus we were, at that time; simple and confid- 
ing, and in our confidence, reckless perhaps in the 
eyes of others, yet happy, because continually 
"trusting." Full of expectation, I took the cars, 
and having left them at Winchester, walked the 
remaining miles, through the bewitching scenery 
of American landscape, and American country 
residences. Those fanciful dwellings and tasteful 
'grounds ! It took me by surprise, and walking up 
to Pelham Priory, I could not help exclaiming: 
'^I wish she were with me!" 

Nothing indeed could surpass the scenery around 
the Priory. It was all new to me, and when at 



PELHAM PRIORY. 287 

last I entered the d^Yelling, built in gothic style 
and furnished all through in perfect harmony, I 
foro'ot that I was in a "school." Yet so it was. 
And the Rev. Mr. Bolton, with his wife, a 
daughter, of the celebrated Jay, and his amiable 
family, made me feel in Europe, only with the 
freedom and pleasing, "laissez aller'^ of American 
influence. And I felt at home in another sense. 
For they were truly God-fearing people, laboring 
with earnest desire to glorify their Redeemer. 
And when, at noon, I was placed in the large din- 
ing hall, next to the reverend Principal, and sur- 
veyed the bevy of thirty or forty scholars, from all 
parts of the Union, setting down as a large family, 
with evidence of good breeding and liberal instruc- 
tion, my heart was warmed, and I thought Pel- 
ham Priory a paradise. 

With these feelinofs I returned, havingf arranofed 
with Mr. B. that I should come twice a week, to 
instruct in French and Italian. And w^ith the 
Abbotts I made an arrangement in the beginning 
of September. They were, I believe, four broth- 
ers. John, the author of many works, took the 
lead. On Lafayette place they opened their Insti- 
tute; and I was engaged for French, and other 
things, as they happened to be necessary; among 
others for drawino-. 

The Abbott plan was to make instruction as 
pleasant as possible. With this view, grammar 
and all rules were severely banished. And when, 
in aftertime, I composed a series of exercises, going 



288 PELHAM PRIORY. 

more systematically through grammar, I lost my 
labor. For not only did I give offense, but even a 
promised increase of salary was withdrawn ! 

Thus I worked under the directions of others, 
often against my better convictions, and chafing 
under the yoke of necessity, seeing instruction 
made a tool for profit, and the increase of scholars 
the main object in view. I began to feel as if I 
made bricks and bricks, and had to furnish the 
straw besides. But necessity compelled me to many 
"essays" and "trials" of "new" methods, until at 
last my own lack of experience deprived me of my 
most pleasing task, the instructions at the Pri- 
ory. 

It was an "aristocratic" school, and niany were 
the ladies from the sunny South, who there received 
their " finishing touches." Among them were four 
sisters from Charleston, sweet and interesting, and 
with them I once came in discussion concerning 
" slavery." A European, fresh from the old world, 
has no idea of the tenderness of this point. I 
honestly, but imprudently, confessed my astonish- 
ment that in a Republic, founded on " Liberty," 
such a thing as "slavery" could exist. I w^as not 
aware of the deep offense I had given. Nor did 
the sweet sisters show any annoyance. But at 
the following lesson, the eldest sister handed me 
her composition signed with her name, with this 
addition : " from Charleston, S. C, where liberty 
exists in all its forms." 

And this was a declaration of war. For since 



PELHAM PRIORY. 289 

that time all went against me. And soon I per 
ceived that good Mr. Bolton was perplexed, and 
had a word to say. At last he said it. At the 
end of the month my services would be dispensed 
with. 

That evening I walked home over the beautiful 
hills, colored with autumnal leaves ; but I was 
depressed and gloomy, and remember having had 
the tears in my eyes, when thinking of wife and 
child. 

19 



290 THE CHURCH. 



CHAPTEE III. 

THE CEUBCH. 

A FEW days thereafter I received by mail a let- 
ter from Mrs. Feller, who had established the 
*^ Swiss Mission" at the Grande Ligne in Canada. 
She was zealous and enterprising, devoting herself 
especially to the " conversion" of the French 
Canadians. Having heard of me through Mr. 
Baird, she wrote to me to come and establish there 
an Institute, a ^^ Christian school." 

At first the plan seemed wild to me. The 
journey far, the means none, the prospects obscure. 
I consulted with my wife and several friends. I 
said I could not see a call. Thus some days passed, 
and the secret wish of doing a useful work arose 
under the pressure of the Abbott's nonsense. It 
seemed to me as if I had been like the Israelites, 
discouraged and frightened by the reports of spies. 
And one afternoon, coming home, I found Mrs, 
Burke in conversation with my wife, and confessed 
that I was "restless." She, with the single- 
minded feelings of early education, saw therein a 
proof that my decision was perhaps not the right 
one. And thus we spoke, and when she had left 
, us, with my wife I recalled old remembrances, and 
it seemed as if the old spirit awakened in us, and 
I knelt down with her, and, as was our wont, we 



THE CHURCH. 291 

prayed abundantly for ^Might," and in our sim- 
plicity we asked "si sign." Should it please God 
to send the means, we would go. 

Late that same evening, Dr. Burke came with 
seventy-five dollars for our journey, should we de- 
cide to go. Then we were glad, for it seemed a 
sign indeed. And the following day we packed, 
and having taken leave of the many friends we 
had already made, on the twenty-seventh of No- 
vember, we went with a nurse and our child to 
the steamer. On the road the carriage was upset, 
but nothing da-unted, my valiant wife proceeded on 
foot, and we reached the steamer in time. 

During the night we ascended the broad and 
rapid Hudson and reached Troy in the morning, 
jnst at the moment the stage left for Whitehall, 
where the canal boat had to take us further. So 
we had to stay in Troy, hoping to leave the fol- 
lowing morning. But then we heard to our great 
dismay that, on account of the heavy frost, the 
last boat had left ! 

What now to do ? To take me overland, through 
snow and frost in open sleigh, I was asked a sum 
beyond my means, and it would have been a severe 
trial for my wife and child. We concluded to re- 
turn, though sorely perplexed why God had al- 
lowed us to spend so much money and time 
seemingly for nothing? But it was not for noth- 
ing ! For although I did not- reach the Grande 
Ligne, this frustrated attempt kept the "Mission- 
ary" work before me; and disappointed in this, I 



292 THE CHURCH, 

was stirred up to seek a sphere of usefulness, be- 
yond the daily routine of teaching languages. 
Thus I look upon it now. For, of a truth, if *'not 
a hair falls without the will of our Heavenly Fath- 
er," we must believe that He shapes the course of 
our lives, and not we. 

With joy and sympathy our friends received us, 
and the Abbotts, who appreciated my work, en- 
tered into a fuller engagement with me. And, 
thus the winter, severe for one who comes from 
Europe, passed pleasantly, and in the month of 
January, my first American child was born, a 
daughter whom God has preserved until this day. 
And during her mother's confinement and long 
illness, my restless mind began to dive into the 
field of theology. From Europe we had brought a 
simple faith, and many were the letters which I 
exchanged with our dear congregation of ''Rue 
Ducale" at Brussels. And with my wife, I went 
to Dr. Skinner's church, hoping to find the same 
simplicity. 

But when we sat down in one of the richly cush- 
ioned pews, and saw the stir of fashion around us, 
and the preacher lounging on a red cushioned sofa, 
in the rear of the large tribune, until he arose, 
and having addressed the Deity standing, one 
hand in his pocket, heard him read a sermon in 
the style of discourse or lecture, then the prayers 
followed by the audience sitting, and the singing 
done by a choir, whilst the congregation listened 
as to a well performed piece of music — we went 
home, sadly disappointed. 



THE CHURCH. 293 

I merely give my impressions. They may have 
been wrong, but such they were. And several 
evenings we went to "prayer meetings," such as 
we were accustomed to in our little chapel. But 
the prayers seemed long and cold, and there was 
to us a lack of unction; none seemed to give of his 
own, but rather to draw from a common stock of 
piety. Thus it seemed to us, accustomed to the 
simple earnest faith of Swiss and French protest- 
ants, who, surrounded by powerful adversaries, as 
it were, hide their love of a * living" Savior, in the 
quiet gatherings of humble confessors of a " Cruci- 
fied" Savior. the first remembrance of those 
quiet hours, now stirred by the united singing of 
one of the "Songs of Zion," then again followed 
by a prayer flowing from simple confiding hearts. 
And we w^ere perplexed. For we found many, 
many churches, and endless divisions. Then we 
asked our hostess, if there was not a French 
church ? 

Smiling, she answered : "0, yes, there is ; but 
then you will have to go to an Episcopal church." 
For she was a zealous "church woman." 

And so we went one morning to the French 
church " du St. Esprit." The solemnity of the 
service struck us; the prayer-book assisted our de- 
votion. The sermon was simple, not searching as 
we were accustomed to, but edifying. And when 
the pastor invited to the communion, I felt a wish 
to go to the altar, and, with a look, asked my 
companion. She arose with me, and there kneel- 



294 THE CHURCH. 

incr we received the first sacramental bread since 
we took it last in our humble chapel. That after- 
noon I went to St. Thomas, and heard for the first 
time that eloquent preacher, Dr. Hawks. And 
his text I remember : " Thou, adore God." His 
manner struck me so, that the following day I 
went to him, and had a long conversation. 

"I go," said he, "to the south, and intend to 
establish a seminary at Holly Springs, in Missis- 
sippi. If there you are willing to work with me, I 
shall be glad. And besides, since you desire to 
enter the gospel ministry, I can aid you therein." 

My Presbyterian friends opposed the scheme, 
and to them were all my introductions ; through 
them, as yet, I had mostly received my engage- 
ments. But although I continued my labors, and 
thus gained a moderate subsistence, the words of 
Dr. Hawks had left a deeper impression than he 
was probably aware of. 

The gospel ministry was since long the ultima 
thide of mv wishes. I heard the last sermons of Dr. 
Hawks to overcrowded cono^reofations in St. Thom- 
as, before leaving for the south, and, shall I confess 
it? — of all the sermons I have since heard in the 
New World, his seemed to me the most like those 
I was accustomed to. And at that time there was 
a discussion published in the newspapers between 
Kev. Dr. Potts and Pev. Dr. Wainwriofht: Pres- 
byterian vs. Episcopalian. I followed, with the 
ardor of one to whom everything was new, those 
lengthy letters, and the strength of the argument 



THE CHURCH. 295 

seemed to me to be on the Episcopal side. And 
all my spare time I devoted to reading, I verily be- 
lieve, all that was to be read on the question of 
church policy. Amongst other works I remem- 
ber having read with intense attention the ^^ Double 
Witness," a series of discourses by the Rev. Ingra- 
ham Kip, now, since more than twenty years, the 
Apostolical .Bishop of far-oiF California. I read 
them to my wife, and well do I remember how we 
were impressed. 

At that time also, regular discourses were deliv- 
ered by eminent divines of the church, with a direct 
tendency to prove the claims of the Episcopal 
church as an offspring of the Anglican. 

These memoirs may be read by many who do 
not belong to what is called the Church. I wish 
to give offence to none, I merely state the prog- 
ress of the work in my unsophisticated mind. I 
had not many 'trials" to go through. It was all 
simple enough. Ardent in my religious convic- 
tions, I always had missed a unity, a central force 
to hold together the visible Body of Christ; a cer- 
tain form embodying the doctrines and mode of 
worship. This form was existing in the French 
Reformed Church, often called the Walloon 
Church, the direct offspring of the Huguenots. 
But it was seldom or only partially used. Yet, 
of that church, my ancestors had ever been faith- 
ful adherents, since, three centuries ago, the first 
left country and Homanism, and married a noble 
maiden, of the house of Van Linden, in the 



296 THE CHUKCH. 

Netherlands. His son married the granddaughter 
of De Kequesens, converted to the reformed faith 
by her mother, the duchess of Pascha. Her 
prayer-book, printed at Kochelle, 1570, is among 
my most valued heir-looms. How often did that 
Spanish Duchess, converted to humble faith, 
peruse those prayers ! And up to the fifth gen- 
eration I have the written proofs of their religious 
convictions. 

Far then was it from me, that I should have 
denied their faith ; very far, indeed ! That I should 
deny their rightful baptism, or the sacramental 
bread they took in faith; very far, indeed! But, 
when in the New World, I found so many sects 
calling themselves churches, so many differences in 
essential points, such a continual splitting of already 
existing splits; and saw one church claiming apos- 
tolical authority, and, as yet without split, though 
now and then I heard of ^^High" and "Low;" 
when I followed its liturgy, so clear and consis- 
tent, going through the Christian year; when I 
assisted at the ordination of priest and deacons, and 
once at the consecration of an Apostolic Bishop ; 
I could not help comparing; I could not help wish- 
ing a "spiritual home" for myself, wife and chil- 
dren. 

Memory is a strange treasury ! The very mo- 
ment I remember when my mind was fully made 
up. 

Mrs. Wickham, a widow lady, now at eighty- 
three years of age, a deaconess of the church at 



THE CHURCH. 297 

Grand Rapids, Michigan, a warm friend of our 
hostess, Mrs. Lyons, had taken great interest in the 
stranger and his family. She took us one Sunday 
morning to the Seamen's chapel. When I saw 
the building filled with sailors, old and young, and 
beheld them followinof with intense attention the 
service read by a priest, who was every inch a 
man ; then listening with marked interest to the 
short but graphic sermon; then receiving the bless- 
ing as people who knew they received one; then 
retiring quietly, whilst some had a few words to 
exchange with the man of God: I took my seat in the 
omnibus, and could not refrain from tears ! Then 
and there I remember having made my decision. 

Thus it was. Thou knowest it, Fountain of 
truth! Thus it was that I left the communion 
wherein my brave ancestors had lived and died for 
three centuries, to seek admission to that organic 
body which seemed to nae the lawful kingdom of 
my Lord and Savior. 

No sudden enthusiasm, no worldly expectations 
moved me. For all my friends, all my introduc- 
tions, and I had many indeed, were of the Presby- 
terian persuasion. Turning as it were from them, 
I was, for the time, a friendless stranger in a world 
already strange to me. But as once, in the silent 
hours of night, I was called from unbelief to be- 
lief, so now, from vague uncertainty, I seemed 
called to positive organic unity. 

That week, I wrote a letter to Bishop Doane, 
of New Jersey. I gave him full details of my 



298 THE CHURCH. 

past history and actual wishes. He came to see 
me with the Rev. Dr. Ogilby. The Sunday after, 
I went with my wife to the Church of the Ascen- 
sion, Dr. Haight's; we were accustomed to go 
there, though far away. After service, the Doc- 
tor spoke to me of an opening at the University of 
Charlotteville, in Virginia, where a professor of 
languages was desired, with two thousand dollars 
appointment; he had been charged to seek one, 
and proposed it to me. But it was just the same 
as when the captain of engineers, ten years be- 
fore, offered me the position in East India! It 
had no effect. I went home, as if no such offer 
had been made me. And that evening I took the 
cars to Burlington, New Jersey. 



RIVERSIDE. 299 



CHAPTEE IV. 

RIVERSIDE. 

I SHALL never forget the Monday morning when 
I walked along the Delaware to "Riverside/' the 
Bishop's residence. That beautiful walk along 
elegant rural dwellings, under the heavy shade of 
sycamores and elm trees, whilst the noble river 
streamed in broad and equal waves, now and then 
crossed by a steamer or a rapid sailing vessel ! I 
shall never forget it! The impression was some- 
what similar to that received on my first visit to 
Pelham Priory; but there was a grandeur in the 
scenery, a life-picture as it were of the un equaled 
American landscape, together with the tasteful 
dwellings and gardens, suggestive of ease and re- 
finement. 

At last I reached St. Mary's Hall, founded the 
same year when I began my West-End Institute 
in the Hague; but in the lapse of seven years, 
grown to be the nursery of hundreds of daughters 
of the church, from the Canadian boundaries to 
the Gulf of Mexico. I passed on, and rang the 
bell at the Bishop's residence. It was built in the 
style of an Italian villa, surrounded by most beau- 
tiful grounds. The very spacious entrance hall 
opened into a magnificent library, a large dining 
hall, and two or three elegantly furnished parlors* 



300 EIVERSIDE. 

I was ushered into the library, where the bishop 
received me with his dignified, yet so very hearty 
and affectionate manner. Our talk was long, and 
I well remember its details. And how he intro- 
duced me to his wife, that noble Christian matron, 
whose soul seemed the essence of affectionate love : 
and to his sons, of whom the youngest, then a 
promising boy of ten or eleven, with strong re- 
semblance to his father, is now the Bishop of 
Albany. 

Could I ever forget that morning hour's talk 
with the genial Bishop Doane, the founder of St. 
Mary's hall and Burlington college, the thorough 
scholar, the perfect gentleman, whose motto was 
"Bight onward," whose piercing eye at once went 
home to the heart, whose friendly smile brightened 
the stern impression of his classical features. He 
seemed at once to understand me; my convictions 
concerning the church ; my wish for the ministry; 
my need of steady employment. It was all ar- 
ranged in short time, and that afternoon I, for the 
first time in my life, knelt before mortal man, and 
received the apostolical benediction. 

The train carried me soon to New York, and 
then we began to prepare for our departure, leav- 
ing many friends with thankful hearts, and looking 
to our new home with no small degree of comfort. 
And so it proved to be. For my faithful compan- 
ion found in Mrs. Doane a dear and loving friend; 
and the bishop did all he could to make my new 
position useful and agreeable. 



RIVERSIDE. 301 

During pari of the day, I had numerous classes 
in French, German, Greek and Latin; during the 
evening I had a lesson with the bishop's sons, and 
an hour with the bishop himself. I remember 
those hours with pleasure. Weary and sometimes 
exhausted by the day's labors, the dear bishop did 
all he could to read some of the French classics 
with his humble teacher. Truly, my God, Thou 
hadst wonderfully favored me to become in a for- 
eign country, the teacher of a noble institution, 
devoted to the church, but even to be allowed to 
impart my knowledge to the apostolic father of 
the church and to his promising sons ! 

In the meantime, the appointed Sunday for my 
baptism drew near. Our dear friend Mrs. Wick- 
ham and our hostess Mrs. Lyons came to witness it. 
To me it was a solemn step ; I thought it necessary 
to put a seal to my initiation to what I then con- 
sidered, and still consider, the Organic Body of 
Christ. The wife of Dr. Ogilby received baptism 
at the same time. With my first-born and my 
second child I was baptized ; unconditionally. In 
this, I think I erred. For thus, in fact, "I denied 
the baptism of all my ancestors, a thing I had no 
right to do, and which I regret to this very day. 
But, if error there was, I truly repent, and with 
many other errors, this one is forgiven. 

Well do I remember how the bishop, after serv- 
ice, took my hand and said, in his half serious, 
half jesting way; '^Now we have made you a sol- 
dier, by and by we shall make you a captain." 



302 RIVERSIDE. 

And from that day I was entered as a candidate 
for holy orders. The Bishop's library furnished 
me with all the necessary books, and my nights 
and other spare time were devoted to theology. 
For I was earnest in my purpose, and with me 
study was second nature, nor did I wish to slight a 
single item of the prescribed course, which, how- 
ever, I intended to finish in a year. 



MOTHER HAS COME. 303 



CHAPTER V. 

MOTHER HAS COME! 

The summer of 1844 passed in pleasant and use- 
ful occupation, whilst the number of our friends 
and acquaintances increased, and made us feel 
more and more at home in our Burlington paradise. 
For truly, a paradise it seemed to us ; and well do 
I remember the evening, when arm in arm Ade- 
laide and I walked through the fields, and I ex- 
claimed: ^^How could we ever leave this place!" 

That evening we recalled our short but eventful 
married life, not yet three years, and yet how 
many changes ! I remember, our hearts were full; 
and when coming home, as yet our boarding house, 
we found a letter from Europe. From my mother 
it came. Since the sad morning when six years 
before she had left me, I had not seen her. Sweet 
and loving had been her letters, for both of us 
had felt the wrong; both of us had suffered; and 
with longing love she had wished to see once more 
the only son: this love had conquered all obstacles, 
all objections made by friends; though sixty-four 
years old, and suffering of consumption, she wished 
to cross the Atlantic, and in a foreign country, 
whose language even she did not know, she wished 
to end her days, near him and his wife. 

The letter told us this, and more : my only sis- 



304 MOTHER HAS COME. 

ter, Emily, from childhood the constant companion 
of her mother, had given up her Institute, and 
would accompany her. They had taken passage 
on the ^' Monitor," and within three weeks they 
would be with us. 

^^ Adelaide," said I to my wife, '^ God's blessing 
is coming in a shower upon us. ' Thou hast been 
the comforting little angel to my father. Now, 
thou art going to comfort my dear mother, whom 
thou never hast seen!" And she pressed my hand 
as one who understood my meaning. 

That night I slept little. Father, mother, all 
was before me. My mother to come to me, so far, 
so very far; she who once had left me! Truly, 
God's blessing came in a shower upon me ! 

And when the bishop heard it, he was glad. 
For my sister he had already a place in St. Mary's. 
And forthwith we set out to "hunt a house." 
And Mr. Parker, a worthy vestry-man of the 
church, had one to lease. We had scarcely finished 
furnishing it, when a letter came from dear Emily ; 
they had arrived, and were at our dear Mrs. Lyons' 
house, mother very weak from hemorrhage. I 
started for New York. How did that son feel 
when bending over his dear mother! How did 
that brother feel, when pressing to his heart that 
only sister I A few days restored strength, and 
we were in the cars for Burlington. And how did 
mother feel when for the first time beholding 
queenly Adelaide ! 

A happy household we were, when in that com- 



MOTHER HAS COME. 305 

fortable Parker house, just opposite old St. Mary's 
church; enjoying now and then the visits of our 
Bishop and his lady, who thought much of my 
noble mother: visitinof now and then Mrs. Brad- 
ford, whose friend, the Countess Martel, was 
French, and therefore a welcome acquaintance for 
our mother. 

" I love your mother," said the Bishop, " she 
has something angelic in her." I like to repeat 
these words of the now sainted Bishop. They 
often recur to me. They were the simple ex- 
pression of what he felt. 

And my sister found a sphere of usefulness in St. 
Mary's hall ; as principal she worked there that 
winter. Many things were strange to her, but 
the main object of the Institute, the educating of 
Christian maidens to become Christian mothers, 
was not strange to her; and in this she worked 
with conscientious care. 

In the meantime my theological studies went 
on. The more I studied, the more I saw the 
rightful claims of the apostolical church. And 
I wrote with care a treatise to show these claims. 
I wrote it in French, the language of my mother; 
I have it yet. I dedicated it with filial piety to 
my mother. She read it, and studied it. She 
came to the same conclusion I had come to. 

" I wish to be baptized in the church thou be- 
longest to," she said. 

My sister came to the same conclusion. And 
so in the month of April, 1845, my dear mother 

20 



306 MOTHER HAS COME. 

and sister were baptized in St. Mary's church. A 
few weeks thereafter, my mother, my sister, my 
wife, and myself, were confirmed by the Bishop. 

But in midsummer my sister received letters 
from Europe which urged her speedy return. It 
was a sore trial for all, for my mother not least. 

But the letters became more and more urgent, 
and at last the day came. The few months I had 
enjoyed my dear sister's presence, the few months 
in my long and weary life, were gone. With sor- 
rowful heart she kissed my mother and wife for 
the last time. With sorrowful heart I accom- 
panied her on board the same vessel in which eight 
months before she had arrived, and there held her 
for the last time in my arms. 

Thirty years have gone by, we never met again; 
but until now she is the link which binds me to 
the Old World, and sweet and heart-stirring is our 
intercourse by letters. 



THE CURATE. 307 



CHAPTER YI. 

THE CURATE. 

Whilst working hard at my preparation for 
examination, at St. Mary's hall, and superintending 
the Sunday school, the year passed, not without 
giving me a second daughter, little Fannie, now 
in paradise. 

At last on Trinity Sunday, 1846, the ultima thule 
of my wishes came ; for on that day the bishop 
ordained me to the office of a deacon. How well 
do I remember the blessing I received that morn- 
ing from my dear mother ! In her French prayer- 
book she had followed the impressive service, and 
she well knew the ardent wish of her son. 

That same evening I preached my first sermon 
in St. Stephens, Churchville, the parish of a 
worthy presbyter, a teacher at St. Mary's, a friend 
of mine, who from the Methodists had joined 
the Church of Christ. And from that day began 
a life of activity, of which, even now, I cannot 
but think wdth thankfulness. The bishop's parish 
had for some time been under the care of sainted 
Winslow, a young but holy man; once inclined to 
Romanism, but saved by the wisdom of the bishop, 
who regarded him as his son. Him the voice of 
God had called ^^home." And his place the 
bishop never filled. His memory was dear among 



308 THE CURATE. 

the parishioners; and it was, as if the bishop 
could not find any one to take the place of one so 
endeared to him. 

As soon as I was ordained, I began to look 
around. I visited the poor and needy; I found 
many households who had neglected church and 
baptism. I reported to the bishop. Seeing my 
honest zeal, he at once appointed me his curate. 
He gave me some names, and through them I found 
out the others. Afternoons and evenings, and 
early mornings were devoted to the work. And 
Sunday after Sunday I brought families and chil- 
dren to the baptismal font. Sometimes twenty, 
sometimes thirty, sometimes even more. It 
seemed *' apostolical times," as Mrs. Cleveland, 
the daughter of Mrs. Doane, expressed it. 

The bishop said, he had not ordained me in 
vain. And well do I remember the blessed words 
he uttered at the next convention, when reporting 
the increase in the parish, he said : ^^ it were well 
if more such faithful deacons could be found." 
Blessed words to me, now an aged presbyter on the 
Pacific shores ! I record them with thankful 
heart, more than with pride. For the spirit 
which moved me to deserve them, was indeed the 
gift of God, a gift too often neglected, a gift too 
often received as if it were an offspring of our own 
simple self! 

"With a weary heart I w^rite these lines. Yes, 
with a weary heart. For the approval then re- 
ceived from apostolical lips, whilst increasing my 
ardor, did not humble me. 



THE CURATE. 309 

Many were the towns in the diocese, where I 
was sent on Sundays to preach the gospel. Once 
I preached in Newark to a German congregation, 
who, with their pastor, were coming over to the 
church. Another time I preached in French in 
the church of Rev. F. Ogilby, Philadelphia. All 
this, joined to the daily opening and weekly cat- 
echising of the "Parish School" founded by Mrs. 
Cleveland, the frequent officiating, morning and 
evening, in St. Mary's and in St. Mary's Hall, the 
incessant care of poor and sick, the baptisms and 
burials, besides my daily attendance at St. Mary's 
Hall, kept me so busy that St. Mary's cure was 
not a "sinecure" indeed. 

But Thou knowest it, God of my life, those times 
are a bright spot in my memory. For my zeal 
was ardent and unselfish, and I know those days 
are marked in Thy book. Yet in those very days, 
a germ of bitterness arose in my unsophisticated 
soul. More than a year, I had worked as a dea- 
con. Many were the souls, who, on their dying 
bed, asked for the Holy Eucharist, and I could not 
give it them. In vain I asked for priest's orders, 
in vain I had passed my examination to the satis- 
faction of Dr. Haight and Pev. Germain, my ex- 
aminers. I was delayed. Why, I may now 
surmise; then I could not. Then it only created 
in me a chafing against what I considered, in my 
presumption, a "yoke." And that "chafing" was 
increased by the remembrance of the difficulty I 
had encountered in getting my ordination as a dea- 



310 THE CURATE. 

con, long after I had passed the necessary examin- 
nation; when, as the bishop expressed it in a note 
received long afterwards, I ^^ dragooned" him into 
my ordination. 

I had not learned ^^ humility." I had not 
learned implicit confidence in the 'superior wisdom 
of him who, as an apostolical successor, knew best 
when "Timothy" had to be ordained. Thus I see 
it now, and write it down in all simplicity, that 
some who may read these pages may learn from 
the bitter experience of an aged Presbyter. But 
at that time it began to create in me a w^ish to be 
"independent." A wish to employ the "talents" 
I felt possessed of, in a manner to suit my personal 
taste. Thus, when reviewing the past, it now 
seems to me. 

Three years we had enjoyed our dear mother's 
companionship. Her feeble health had given way. 
Her wonderful spiritual energy alone kept her 
alive. The summer of 1847 had been hot. 
Weaker and weaker she became. At last she felt 
her end approaching. She dictated to me her last 
wishes. A few gifts to her beloved ; words of 
comfort concerning my father. I remember that 
September afternoon ! when I went to Riverside 
to ask the bishop to give her the last communion. 
That evening she received it ; Adelaide, myself, 
and Mrs. Wickham, kneeling at her bedside. For 
this dear friend had passed some weeks with us, 
and never shall I forget her consoling words. 

Thirteen years had elapsed since I was kneeling 



THE CURATE. 311 

at my father's deathbed, an unbelieving young 
man then ; now, an ordained minister, I knelt at 
the deathbed of my mother, and with her received 
the bread of life ! That night I passed waking 
with my mother. The morning came, and with it 
faint hopes. But toward noon the death-struggle 
seemed to come. In an easy chair she leaned 
back, then came slow and hard breathing. Then 
the death-sweat pearled on the noble brow. 
Heavier and heavier became the breathing. We 
all knelt down; I read the prayer for the departing. 
The shades of evening had come. The breathing 
became slower, easier. Wiping her face with her 
handkerchief, she seemed to recover from a long 
slumber. 

^' I thought I was leaving you," she said, with 
a sad smile. " Put me to bed, children, I am 
very tired." 

Then came the Countess Martel, and had a long 
conversation with her. '^ This is her last night," 
said she to me. " She cannot live longer." With 
that she took a touching leave of mother. When 
she was gone, my mother said, in clear, but sub- 
dued voice, '^ Not long, not long ; where are the 
children ? " They were fetched : Malan, the old- 
est, Gertrude his sister. On each side of the bed 
one knelt. Then mother laid her hands on the 
little heads, and spoke in distinct words her bless- 
ing. 

They are near me: they have given me grand- 
children to bless. They were the first of my race 



312 THE CURATE. 

who since three centuries received a grandparent's 
blessing. 

Then Adelaide and myself knelt, and received 
the parting blessing of our mother. That blessing 
has been fruitful! 

^^Take me to the chair," whispered my mother. 
Leaning back, and resting her head on her right 
arm, she felt the '^last agony" coming. It was ten 
o'clock. I knelt beside her. Long and appar- 
ently painful was the struggle. Not a word she 
spoke, not a sign she made; but slower and slower 
came the breathing, till, w^hilst I loudly repeated 
the Lord's prayer, at the last word her breathing 
ceased. She was gone. The clock was half past 
twelve. It stopped; I mention this because years 
thereafter, the same occurred, at a time of great 
affliction. 

A year before I had assisted at the laying of 
the corner-stone of the new St. Mary's Church. 
Its walls rose stately, but I never saw it finished. 
Just under the chancel window, rests my mother. 
There the bishop, with all the clergy, and followed 
by the daughters of St. Mary's, read the "dust to 
dust." There a headstone marks the grave, with 
the sign of redemption, her name, and "My Ke- 
deemer liveth." 

Thus my father rests in the Old World, my 
only brother in South America, my mother on the 
Atlantic coast, and I hope soon to rest on the 
Pacific coast. 

I resumed my work, and on September nine- 



THE CURATE. 313 

teenth, I was ordained priest, two Sundays after 
my mother's departure. From that time my work 
increased; sick and dying received my attention, 
and an illness which laid the bishop on his couch, 
increased my responsibility. But in all I was sus- 
tained by the merciful Spirit of God. And the 
middle of 1848 found me as happy a curate as ever 
was, my hands full of Avork, but blessed with four 
little ones, and faithfully assisted in many of my 
duties by my loving wife. 



314: A TEMPTATION. 



CHAPTEE VII. 

A TEMPTATION. 

The war with Mexico had come to an end, and 
the Pacific coast had been added to the Great 
Pepublic. Among the many friends and acquaint- 
ances whom we met, was Mr. Podman Price, 
having served in the navy, since Governor of New 
Jersey. He was a man of pleasant address, and 
had much to tell about the wonders of California, 
although at that time the gold discoveries were 
not yet known. But his vivid descriptions of the 
country, audits beautiful climate, his acquaintance 
with many influential merchants and land-owners, 
his unbounded confidence of San Francisco, then 
a mere embryo township of adobes and shanties 
along the bay, once and soon becoming the grow- 
ing metropolis of the Pacific, made him once 
exclaim : 

'^I think you may once go there yourself." 
The sound of those words rings yet in my ears ! 
And from that time the restless spirit which had 
often moved me, awoke again. Not ambitious in 
the usual acceptation of the word, I was ambitious. 
As when Pietro Gaggia came and offered me a 
larger sphere of usefulness, so now. My daily toil, 
in many respects monotonous, seemed cramping. 
A mission field, where I could, to American, Span- 



A TEMPTATION. 315 

ish, Frencli and German, preach the gospel ! But 
when I spoke with Adelaide, with woman's tact, 
she laid her hand on my shoulder and said: "Re- 
main where thou art, thou cannot be more than 
useful." 

Two weeks thereafter, Mr. Price came to see me. 
He showed me a paper just received from San 
Francisco. It was a request to the Board of 
Missions, signed by six of the most influential 
churchmen of that city, to have a missionary 
sent at once, and promising full support and aid. 
They had entrusted him with the same, hoping he 
might know an able clergyman to recommend. 

Too apt we are to see "providential action," 
when our mind is biased a certain way. Again, 
I talked the matter over with my trusty wife. 
But she remained very doubtful. The long voy- 
age, then round Cape Horn, four little children, 
the youngest yet in the arms, the very small 
missionary stipend. All this in comparison with 
our comfortable home, our many friends; it seemed 
more than reckless. And when, few weeks there- 
after, the cry of gold in California began to re- 
sound through the length and breadth of the coun- 
try, when there was a general rush for the new 
El Dorado, the missionary spirit dropped in me. 
For not to seek gold I would go there, but to save 
human souls. 

But Mr. Price was tenacious in his purpose. 

, He then intended, as I believe, to conduct his wife 

there, having largely invested in city property; 



316 A TEMPTATION. 

and Adelaide's company would be a great induce- 
ment to her undertaking a journey which she 
dreaded. He was much befriended by Commodore 
Stockton, then on a visit to Mrs. Bradford. He 
arranged a meeting there. Adelaide and myself 
went there one morning. The Commodore's rela- 
tions concerning California, and San Francisco in 
particular, confirmed Mr. Price's statement. Hav- 
ing just returned from the Pacific coast, he gave 
a graphic account of the increasing population, the 
liberality of the inhabitants, the necessity of active 
church ministry. On the tenth of December, the 
first steamer was to go to Aspinwall connecting with 
a steamer at Panama. He offered me, at his ex- 
pense, a free passage with my whole family, and 
on my arrival at San Francisco, $500; whilst Mr. 
Price offered to send, by a storeship of the navy, 
all my furniture, free of charge. 

This was an offer indeed! I could not help my- 
self, and even Adelaide ceased wavering. That 
morning we returned home with the understanding 
that I should ask the bishop's letters commenda- 
tory to the Board of Missions. And so it was, 
that all this had passed in my mind, so many days 
and months, and never had I consulted my spirit- 
ual father. 

If thus I detail my errors, it is that others may 
learn. For had I from the beginning opened my 
mind to him, he would have advised me, and if 
against my plan, he would have made me under- 
stand by degrees, what now at once, as a thunder- 



A TEMPTATION. 317 

bolt, came out. For to my letter, wherein I ex- 
plained my wishes and reasons, he did not vouch- 
safe a written answer, but came himself and told 
me bluntly, '^it was a folly and he would not do 
such a thing." 

The carnal mind took the upperhand in me, and 
I protested rather harshly, I believe. Had he 
then, in quiet manner, as a father, advised me, I 
would have yielded, I am sure. But my long 
silence, my sudden request, excited in him, too, a 
spirit of rebuke. And so, after that short inter- 
view, I went on in my project, which became 
known, was spoken of, commented upon; and after 
some weeks the bishop called me to his study. 

^' I have consulted," said he, '^ with two presby- 
ters, and they agree with me that you are not the 
man to go to California." 

My anger was roused. ^^ Bishop!" I exclaimed, 
^' I do not wish to be thrown away." 

" It is yoii who throw yourself away!" said he. 

I did not understand it then, but I have since 
understood his meaning but too well ! Meanwhile 
the term of St. Mary's Hall came to an end, I 
held my last examinations ; my successor had to 
be appointed, should I persist. I did persist. 

Bishop Potter, of Pennsylvania, at once agreed 
to receive me on letters dismissory, and to com- 
mend me to the Board of Missions. It was 
evening when I was waiting for the bishop at his 
residence. At last he came, handed me the letter 
dismissory to Pennsylvania, with the words : 



318 A TEMPTATION. 

^^ God bless you, doctor !" 

Ah ! those words resound yet in my ears. The 
bond which held me to him who had baptized me, 
confirmed me, ordained me a deacon and a priest, 
and confided to me the care of souls for whom he 
was responsible, — the bond was broken ! I was 
free ! 

Bishop Potter's commendatory letter soon pro- 
cured me the appointment as missionary to San 
Francisco; my household was broken up, my fur- 
niture packed for transportation. This was in the 
month of November, when Bishop Doane was 
taken seriously ill, and I was doubly occupied with 
the care of church and parish, and the necessary 
preparations for my long voyage. Mrs. Doane 
had always been a warm friend to my wife: she 
regretted our departure: she insisted upon our 
staying at Riverside when our household was 
broken up. And so we came under the roof of 
him, who was our spiritual father, and remained 
our friend. 



CLOUDS. 319 



CHAPTEH VIII. 

CLOUDS. 

I HAD preached my last sermon in St. Mary's; 
December had come with frost and snow. The 
tenth approached, the day of the first steamer 
wliich liad to take us to California. I had yet 
some business to attend to in Philadelphia, where 
the small-pox was raging. Unknowingly I passed 
throuofh some infected streets. The following: 
evening I had to bring the holy eucharist to a 
dying woman, who had long been under my care. 
Adelaide accompanied me. 

I performed the sad but impressive service. I 
spoke words of consolation and encouragement to 
the dying mother, but my head began to ache. 
We walked home ; two or three times I had to sit 
down; the night was cold, but I felt hot and 
burning ; at last we reached Piverside ; I went to 
bed. That night headache and fever increased. 
In the morning the physician was called. He saw 
the fatal marks already breaking out on my fore- 
head. 

Small-pox at the Bishop's residence, St. Mary's 
Hall with two hundred pupils on one, Burlington 
College with one hundred and thirty students on 
the other side ! There was no choice. The third 
day, with raging fever, I was transported to my 
old home, where some rooms had been prepared. 



320 CLOUDS. 

There I "was, with my little family, for many 
days between life and death; constantly nursed 
by none but my faithful wife. I remember some 
intervals of that time, but few. At last the crisis 
passed. The steamer had long since left! The 
Christmas days approached, and that day I could 
sit down with my wife and children, weak, but out 
of danger and on the way of recovery. 

Though our house was avoided as a pest-house, 
and none approached it, yet many were the tokens 
of affection which I received. The bishop sent 
me a valuable work with pencil-written inscription, 
the first he wrote after his severe illness, ^'from 
.... once your Bishop, ahvays your friend. Blessed 
words ! And Mrs. Doane remembered every one 
of us, even the little ones, who each had a prayer- 
book with her name. And from the pupils of St. 
Mary's Hall we received a touching token of 
grateful affection. 

In the beginning of January, 1849, my health 
was sufficiently recovered to think of leaving for 
New York. For the steamer had gone, but I hoped 
to take the next one. And in the solitude and weary 
hours of slowly returning strength, my soul had 
often turned to Thee, O fountain of my life ! and 
taking pen and paper, I wrote to the bishop, no 
more my bishop, words of regret, asking his bless- 
ing and forgiveness, for whatever might have been 
wrong. 

And to this letter I received an answer, which 
I remember with grief and sorrow. " I forgive 



CLOUDS. 321 

all that," wrote lie, ''and much more that since 
has come to my ears." 

What that was I never have been able to find 
out. With the feelinof of one whose conscience was 
clear, I answered him, but never got a response. 
Whoever has been the cause of it, on him or her 
rests the blame. But ever since, the bishop's fa- 
vor was lost to me, as well as that of his friends. 

With a sore heart, we took leave of the few who 
cared shaking hands with the " spotted" man ; 
amonofst them were Chas. Kinsman and his wife, 
who ever proved stanch friends to me, and on the 
night of the twelfth of January, we reached the 
hospitable roof of dear Mrs. Lyons in New York. 
With my wife I went to Mr. Aspinwall, the agent 
of Commodore Stockton; we wished to secure our 
passage on the next steamer. He received us very 
kindly; but said: ^^ The Commodore declines having 
anything more to do ivith the Doctors affairs." 

That was a thunderbolt indeed ! In vain I asked 
for an explanation. The Commodore was gone. 
Mr. Price had left on the first steamer; Mr. As- 
pinwall could not give any more information. To 
this day I have never been able to find the rea- 
son of this ''breach of promise." Unasked he had 
made an offer, which had decided me to give up 
my position, and risk the voyage with my family. 
And now, without giving any reason, he broke his 
word, and left the appointed missionary to find 
his way as best as he could! 

With a heavy heart I went to see the members 

21 



322 CLOUDS. 

of the Board of Missions. Some of them showed 
me great interest, amongst them Mr. Dennison. 
But the most encouraging were Dr. McVickar 
and Dr. Whitehouse, then Bector of St. Thomas, 
now Bishop of Illinois. The latter one invited me 
to preach in St. Thomas on the twelfth of January. 
Altogether I passed three Sundays in New York, 
and on each of them I preached in several churches. 
In Zion's church, in the church of Be v. Lot Jones, 
in St. Philips. 

But w^hen I saw the secretary of missions, I 
could perceive a "hesitation." I was the '^ap- 
pointed" missionary to San Francisco, with $500 
stipend. But those who sent me, and, it would 
seem, ought to give me the means of reaching my 
far-off field of labor, did not act. And once I met 
in the mission rooms, the Bev. Flavel Mines. 
The secretary told me, he thought of going to 
California. 

A few days after, I was invited to a sort of 
clerical meeting at the Bev. Eigenbrod's (I believe 
that is the name). I went there, and was intro- 
duced to several "high church " clergymen. They 
little knew how very "high church" I was ! They 
judged by appearances. For, though deeply im- 
pressed with the claims of what I considered the 
one church of Christ, in my conversation I did not 
"proclaim" those claims. I was what I now" 
would call "simple minded." 

Yet that evening those good gentlemen came to 
a decision. I write as I see the thinsf now. Then, 



CLOUDS. 323 

I was perfectly ignorant of what was going on. 
The decision was : "That I was not the man to 
send to California. Mr. Mines was." 

And this was what the secretary told me the 
next day, omitting however Mr. Mines: "I was 
not the man to go to California." With this I 
went to Dr. McA^ickar. " You are the man," he 
said, " and you must go, and God will provide the 
means." 

Thou knowest it, God who guidest us, my 
heart began to waver ; but this positive assurance 
of one of Thy faithful servants, and the now decided 
resolution of my wife, who had the most to risk, 
and remained unshaken in her confidence, this 
alone kept up my sinking spirits. And when, the 
following day, I visited the mission rooms, the 
secretary told me a prominent merchant, Mr. 
Furniss, was preparing a vessel to sail for Califor- 
nia, with merchandise and three hundred passen- 
gers, among whom his son, and his son-in-law, the 
supercargo, Mr. Andries. He would be glad to 
give free passage to the missionary and his family. 

The difficulty was solved. I went to Dr. 
Whitehouse. Three hundred passengers, mostly 
young men, and among them the missionary with 
his very young family, on a voyage of at least six 
or seven months ! 

The doctor was thoughtful. "It is a heavy 
undertaking," said he ; then, after a pause, he 
added : " But the Lord who preserved Daniel in 
the den of lions, can preserve you." 



324 CLOUDS. 

And with this confidence we began our prepara- 
tions for our long voyage. In the uncertainty of 
finding a house and home in my far distant mission 
field, I bought two tents and provisions for two 
months. A young Irish nurse was procured by 
Mrs. L., who was fully willing to undertake with 
us the risky trip. The Furniss family gave a fare- 
well party, where we enjoyed, for the last time. 
Eastern kindness and hospitality. And on the 
eighth of February, 1849, my fortieth anniversary, 
we crossed the plank to take possession of our 
allotted quarters in the ^^ George Washington." 

There were no friends, clerical or lay, to take 
leave of the missionary charged with the solemn 
mission of preaching the gospel of Christ accord- 
ing to the church in far-oif California ! Yes ! there 
was one; our faithful hostess, Mrs. Lyons. She 
gave us a parting kiss and blessing. 



THE "GEOKGE WASHINGTON." 325 



CHAPTEK IX. 

THE ''GEORGE WASHINGTON.'' 

The third day after our leaving New York, was 
a Sunday. Most of the passengers had recovered 
from the first "shock," and at the request of Mr. 
Andries, the supercargo, and many other passen- 
gers, I read service and preached. The atten- 
dance was fair, and the attention as good as in any 
church. After that, no Sunday passed without 
the church service. The only interruption was 
during three weeks when we rounded Cape Horn, 
and storm and rough weather made it impossible. 

This is saying much for a number of passengers, 
more than three hundred, mostly young men in 
search of wild adventure. The gospel minister 
was respected on board that ship, and none did ever 
show anything but respect to him and his family, 
except the captain. I believe he is gone to his 
last account, and therefore I shall abstain from any 
remarks but those which are necessary in my nar- 
rative. 

In frost and bitter cold we left the eastern 
metropolis, but soon the tropical regions gave us 
warmth and genial air, making us forget that we 
were in February and March. We had passed the 
equator. We kept along the coast of Brazil. 
One morning the captain looked long and steadily 



326 THE "GEORGE WASHINGTON." 

at a vessel in our rear. The wind was lagging 
more and more. The vessel approached; -how, we 
did not know, for wind there was none. Towards 
noon the captain looked distressed. ^^ I see a black 
flag," said he, "it is a pirate." 

Now on that coast there were pirates; small 
islands gave them refuge. And no sooner was the 
word "pirate" pronounced, but there was a con- 
siderable excitement. A few days before there 
had been a threat of mutiny among some steerage 
passengers. Guns and cartridges had been brought 
into requisition, and sentinels posted. But now the 
common danger seemed to overawe this. All the 
guns were brought out. Men were selected and 
drilled on the deck. An old cannon Avas brought 
up and loaded. The whole ship was in a state of 
commotion. Meanwhile, the strange vessel ap- 
proached, how, we could not imagine, for there was 
no wind. Yet it came nearer and nearer. .It was 
in full view. Its numerous crew could be seen. 
The sun was nearing the horizon. And well do I 
remember the doleful tone wherewith the super- 
cargo said to me: "Doctor, this is perhaps the 
last time we shall see the sun go down ! " 

Our forces had been distributed. Every one 
knew his post. My family had been removed to 
the lower deck; I had been armed with a revolver. 
Darkness came. The vessel approached more and 
more. There was fear and trembling among many; 
cool determination among others. The vessel 
came alongside ; the riddle was solved. Loud, and 



THE "GEORGE WASHINGTON." 327 

at regular intervals, sounded the propelling of the 
oars of huo'e dimensions. On it went. A moment 
of breathless suspense. 

The captain said the pirate would probably turn 
and board us. The suspense was prolonged; many 
were the terror-stricken passengers, who asked me 
to pray. The most courageous was our Irish nurse, 
who young and handsome, with a sort of puritani- 
cal coolness, said to those around: ^'The Almighty 
would see to it." But the pirate did not turn. 
She continued her course, and early in the morn- 
ing we could see her in pursuit of another vessel, 
just visible on the western horizon. We soon re- 
sumed our usual tenor of life, rather monotonous, 
yet not without its little incidents, until we cast 
anchor in the port of St. Catharine. 

There we remained two weeks, I believe, on ac- 
count of water and provisions. Sometimes we 
went on shore, and once were hospitably enter- 
tained by a planter, who, American by birth, had 
married a native lady. One evening he requested 
his daughters to give us some music; and we were 
not a little surprised to see one of the graceful 
young ladies turning a hand-organ. It was music 
any how. And now came our time of severe trial. 
Leaving St. Catharine, we left more and more the 
genial tropical zone, and passing the wide stream 
of the Rio de la Plata, storm and cold began to 
announce the dismal coast of Pataofonia. 

Down and down we went, until we approached 
Terra del Fuego, why thus • called I cannot imag- 



328 THE "GEORGE WASHINGTON." 

ine, for never suffered we more of cold and frost. 
The weather became terrible. Rain, snow, hail, 
and sudden blasts of wind. The vessel shaken as 
a nutshell, the waves often rolling over the deck. 

One morning I was standing there Avith many 
passengers. A sudden shock seemed to carry the 
ship on its side. Most of us held on to something. 
One of us, a handsome, brave young man, was 
thrown overboard. We saw him wrestlinof with 
the waves, his head all covered with blood. A 
rope was thrown. In vain. No possibility of 
lowering a boat. Farther and farther he was left 
behind the rapid course of the ship. Hundreds 
of albatrosses swarmed around him and plunged 
at his head, until at last he sank. That day was 
a sad day on board. Men who used to speak bold 
and profane language, were silent. That day not 
a loud word was heard. A tribute to a man whom 
all respected, and it may be a consciousness, even 
among those turbulent young men, that ^' in the 
midst of life we are in death." 

At last we reached Staten Land. Between the 
islands and the coast we went on and on, till at 
last we came in sight of Cape Horn. One morn- 
ing I stood on deck, looking out with feverish 
anxiety; for I knew that many vessels were de- 
tained weeks and weeks before 'burning the 
Cape;" and the suffering, physical and mental, 
which we underwent, was enough to make us 
almost wish for a "finale." That night the captain 
had frightened us not a little by coming to my 



THE "GEORGE WASHINGTON." 329 

wife's berth, with life-preserver and clothes, telling 
her to be ready, at any moment we might be 
thrown on shore ! 

Judge of my astonishment when I saw the same 
rocks and far-off sloping hills, which I had seen 
the day before ! 

^^ That looks like yesterday," I exclaimed, " we 
have been here." 

*' Of course we have," answered the mate, *^ but 
we were driven back, and so we may for months 
to come." 

That day was the twenty- eighth of May, my 
dear Adelaide's anniversary! Having nothing 
else to offer, I sat down, as best I could, and wrote 
her a letter of love and affection, and my firstborn 
made her a picture. Both she has — mementos of 
a time of tribulation, in strong contrast with our 
peaceful life at Burlington 1 

But our mate's forebodings were not verified. 
That day we sailed round the Cape, and once hav- 
ing turned north, the sea became smoother and 
smoother, the temperature genial, and the greening 
coasts of Chili brought warmth and joy to our 
weary hearts, until at last the ^^ Valley of Para- 
dise" came in view, and the ^^ George Washington" 
cast anchor in the bay of Valparaiso. 



330 VALPARAISO. 



CHAPTEE X. 

VALPARAISO. 

Our vessel had to remain five or six days in 
port. Few were the passengers who did not go on 
shore, and, like birds escaped from their cage, en- 
joy the holiday of liberty! It was the middle of 
June, midwinter in those latitudes, but to us a real 
summer, a season which made it a ^^ paradise" in- 
deed ! With my wife and our little flock we had 
just landed on shore, when a messenger met us. 

A blessed messenger indeed! He came from 
the Rev. Trumbull, the Congregational pastor at 
Valparaiso. He had heard of the coming of an 
Episcopal missionary by the *' George Washing- 
ton." How, I never knew. He invited him and 
his family to his home, the house of Mr. Wheel- 
wright. He wanted me to go up there, and 
showed us the road. 

How I felt at that moment, Thou knowest, 
God who hast ever protected me, never failedst 
when I was in trouble ! How my heart, sore with 
nearly five months' anguish and mental suffering, 
bounded with joy, Thou knowest ! 

Long and up hill was the road; for in Valpa- 
raiso there is an upper and a lower city. Up we 
went, unaccustomed since months to much exer- 
tion. We met a Chileno, and asked him the 
house of the '^ padre Americano." 



VALPARAISO. 331 

*'Ali ! the 'padre,'" he said; ''I'll show you." 
And on we went, thouoii the little ones became 
weary. At last he stopped. It was a neat and 
comely house. He rang the bell. "Adios, Se- 
nor," and disappeared. We were let into a neat 
parlor. Our little ones rested with joy on the 
cushioned chairs and sofas. Those who have been 
for five months caged in a passenger ship, they 
can appreciate the comforts of a parlor ! The pict- 
ures, the curiosities, how the little ones enjoyed 
them ! Meantime I sat on a sofa, holding my 
dear wife's hand, and in silence we thanked God 
for this sunshine on our long and weary journey. 

The bell rang. A middle-aged gentleman en- 
tered — by his dress a clergyman. With a smile 
he looked on the little caravan which was en- 
sconced in his dainty parlor. 

" Mr. Trumbull," I said, " I am the missionary 
whom you so kindly invited." 

I shall never forget the smile on that truly 
English face ! 

" I am not Mr. Trumbull," he said; " " my name 
is Armstrong, the chaplain of the English 
Church. Mr. Trumbull lives next door. You will 
find him in the vestry-room of his church, not far 
from here. Meantime, I am but too glad to see 
you. Make yourselves comfortable." 

And they were made comfortable, the little 
ones. For, in the absence of his wife, Mr. Arm- 
strong's sister presided, and knew how to be hos- 
pitable. I went to Mr. Trumbull's vestry-room. 



332 VALPARAISO. 

and found him a genial Christian gentleman, 
anxious to give me all the comforts during my 
short stay. I returned with him to Mr. Arm- 
strong's house, but then we found the whole plan 
changed. 

When Mr. Armstrong heard from my wife that 
I was a minister of the Church, he had insisted 
upon my staying with him. At last he consented 
to a division. My wife and myself would stay 
with him, my little family with the nurse at Mr. 
Wheelwright's. And thus it was arranged. A 
happier time I never passed ! Two days after, it 
was Sunday, seventeenth day of June, I preached 
morning in the British chapel, and evening in 
the Conofreofational church of Mr. Trumbull. It 
was a little against the feelings of my English 
friend, but as a ^'missionary" I thought I must 
preach wherever I had a chance. I think so yet. 

And so my Sunday services were not interrupted. 
For the Sunday before I preached my last sermon 
on the '^ George Washington," not knowing then, it 
would be my last. May be, it has done some good. 
The text was Job 28: "The fear of the Lord that 
is wisdom, and to depart from evil is understand- 
mg. 

American and English residents did all they 
could to show us hospitable kindness. Mr. More- 
head, the American consul, Mr. Van Boom, the 
consul of the Netherlands, Mr. Emile Grisar, the 
Belgian consul. Captain Walsh and his family, all 
vied in cheerful kindness towards the missionary 



VALPARAISO. 333 

and his wife, whilst our host, the chaplain, made 
us at home in the beautiful surroundings of Val- 
paraiso. 

But our days of respite came to an end. The 
morning came when our vessel was to leave. Mr. 
Armstrong and Mr. Trumbull accompanied us. I 
remember that silent walk ! " Where are the 
children?" I asked. " 0, they are coming; they 
are under good care." There was the boat ; it 
carried us soon to the ship, crowded with passen- 
gers, many of whom were new ones, Chilenos men 
and women. We climbed the ladder. We had 
reached our dungeon ! The captain was there. 
How my blood shivered at the thought of two 
month's more voyage with him! 

^^ Captain," rang out the cheerful voice of Trum- 
bull, "please have the doctor's baggage brought 
up. He leaves the ship." 

It would be difficult to say who was more as- 
tonished, the captain or myself But the order 
was repeated with some "American" vim. Trunks 
and boxes were hauled up, whilst the captain stood 
swearing and grumbling. The baggage was 
lowered into the boat, our guides and we follow^ed. 
The boat reached shore, the baggage was carried 
off, and w^e walked — home. 

" You see," said David Trumbull, in his jovial 
way, " We heard all about it. You never said 
much; but the gentlemen among the passengers 
did it ; and when we heard it all, there was but 
one voice among the American and English resi- 



334 ' VALPARAISO. 

dents : ' They ought not to go on that ship ; there 
is the ' Hebe ' bound for San Francisco ; Captain 
Stetson is a Christian gentleman; he knows how 
to take care of a missionary and his family.' 
And so the residents made up a purse of $650, of 
which $500 will pay your passage to San Fran- 
cisco, and the balance will help you along." 

How I felt, how my wife felt, it would be very 
difficult to say in w^ords. A quarter of a century 
has passed, but whilst writing these lines, my 
heart is full. As the " Hebe " was not to sail be- 
fore the fifth of July, we returned to our " homes." 

Next Sunday I preached again in the English 
chapel and in the Congregational church. The 
Fourth of July was duly commemorated by the 
American residents, and we were prepared to 
leave the following day. But the last night was 
one of great disturbance. An earthquake, such 
as are frequent there, shook the town towards 
midnight. In a moment every one was in the 
streets. Though I have felt many since in San 
Francisco, none would compare with that one, and 
I don't wonder if heart disease is a rather com- 
mon complaint in Valparaiso. All our friends ac- 
companied us to the ^' Hebe," a neat and fast- 
sailing schooner. In the cabin we found all sorts 
of provisions, a present from our lady friends. On 
deck a naval officer took my hand, and pressing it, 
he said : 

" Doctor, I am one of the subscribers to the pe- 
tition for a missionary of our church. I am glad 



VALPARAISO. 335 

you have come. God bless you in your work." 
Saying this, he put one hundred dollars in my 
hand. " It is only part of my share," he added. 
" God bless you." He jumped into the boat, 
waved his hand and said once more, ^^ God bless 
you! 

Soon the ^^ Hebe " was read v. Our dear friends 
took leave of us and our little ones, and whilst 
their boats went to the shore, the anchor was 
lifted, the sails filled with the southern wind, and 
soon the " Valley of Paradise " was out of sight; 
but not out of memory ! 



336 THE GOLDEN GATE. 



CHAPTEE XI. 

THE GOLDEN GATE. 

If the five months on board the " Washington " 
had been a time of unrest, tumult, and harrowing 
annoyance, the two months, which it took the 
" Hebe " to carry us through the tropical ocean to 
the Golden Gate, were full of rest and peace. On 
the eighth of July, 1849, I read the first service, 
and continued to do so until our arrival at San Fran- 
cisco. The captain was a God-fearing man, and 
I never heard an ^^ uneven " word on board that 
ship. There were only six passengers, of whom 
many were Spaniards or Chilenos. 

At last, on the eighth or ninth of September, 
we reached the end of our long voyage. A rather 
severe indisposition had laid me down a few days 
before, so that I could not enjoy the entrance of 
the harbor ; but I heard the anchor's rattling 
chain, and knew that at last we had reached our 
" mission-field," my whole family in good health, 
myself rapidly recovering from a temporary indis- 
position. I need not say that that evening we 
joined in heartfelt thanks for our safe arrival. 
Thou knowest it, O God ! during that long voyage 
I had ample time to think over my past career, 
ample time to make up my " account " with Thy 
holy Providence, ample time to find many errors, 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 337 

ample time to find that through many tribulations 
Thou hadst kindly led me to the haven " where I 
would be." Thou knowest it, I vowed to devote 
my life and strength to the work of saving souls. 
Thou knowest it, and I know that these things 
are "written in Thy book." 

The morning after our arrival. Thou sendest 
^'friends" to Thy missionary. They came to see 
a.fter the man " they had sent for." There was 
Frank Ward, and others v/hose names I partially 
remember. There was also the supercargo of the 
" George Washington," who had always been my 
friend. My luggage was soon dispatched, and the 
boat, which took me and my family on shore, 
landed on what is now Montgomery street. There 
a carriage took us up, the only carriage then in San 
Francisco, belonging to Mr. Gillespie. We drove 
through what is now Washington street, and com- 
ing to the corner of the Plaza, then a sandy 
empty lot, my attention was drawn to a group of 
Frenchmen marching along what was called the 
sidewalk ; their leader pointed to the sandy space : 
" Voila, Messieurs j la place voyaleT he cried, in 
the meantime taking* off his hat when seeino^ 
ladies in a carriage. All followed his example, 
and cried lustily : " Vivent les dames T 

Ladies were indeed scarce in San Francisco, 
and on our road up Washington street, through 
Stockton, many were the men who ran to the front 
door of their shanties to have a view of the 
remarkable occurrence. 

22 



338 THE GOLDEN GATE. 

We stopped at the corner of Stockton and 
Green street, then the residence of Frank Ward, 
a well-to-do merchant, a widower since a few 
months, a young and generous gentleman, one of 
the signers of the request for a missionary, and 
who wished to offer hospitality to him and his 
family. And hospitable was his home ! In a 
time when there were no ^' hotels " in San Fran- 
cisco, when *^ boarding-houses " were costly and 
wretched, his house, well kept and amply pro- 
vided, was open to dozens of his friends, young 
men who were trying to make their fortune in 
this bewildering El Dorado. 

Yet there was room for the missionary with his 
numerous family. A week we were his guests, 
and many were the acquaintances we made there, 
of w^hom some proved themselves stanch friends 
in after time. In the meantime Mr. Rodman Price 
and Mr. Ward had engaged for us quarters in a 
boarding-house on Montgomery street, kept by 
Mrs. Meacham. It was a costly affair. Two 
very small rooms received us, and board was 
such as could be had at that time, when a pound 
of potatoes sold for $1. Five hundred dollars a 
month paid our expenses ! 

It was there that on the twentieth of Septem- 
ber I received the visit ot General Keyes and Mr. 
Gillespie, the wardens of Trinity Church, request- 
ing me to perform service on the following Sunday 
morning in the " Kremlin," on Stockton street, 
where the services were held until the chapel was 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 339 

finished. The Rector, Mr. Flavel Mines, was 
absent. 

This would have startled the missionary of the 
Church, who came to gather the flock of Christ, if 
he had not known since his arrival that his mis- 
sion field had been occupied ever since June or 
July. For, whilst he was struggling in the storm 
and cold around Cape Horn, the Rev. Flavel 
Mines had been enabled to take the shorter route 
by steamer. The friends whom I had met at Dr. 
Eigenbrod in New York had acted, (more than 
the Board of Missions did!) and sent the ^^ proper 
man " wdth means sufficient to start the w^ork in 
the city of the Golden Gate. How did this affect 
me ? I cannot remember. If I could, I would 
in all simplicity make confession. But the warm- 
hearted kindness which met me everywhere, the 
large field of action before me, took away all bit- 
terness. That I know. 

And, on the twenty-third of September, 1849, 
I preached my first sermon in the field '' which I 
had souofht and found." The conofreofation was 
large and attentive, and I remember having gone 
to Mr. Ward's residence with many friends, w^ho 
there held a conference of what was best to be done; 
for the case was somewhat puzzling. The mis- 
sionary sent by the church had been supplanted 
by one sent by private individuals. Since two 
months the church of the Holy Trinity had been 
orofanized. Was there room for two churches ? 
What was the missionary to do ? Those who had 



340 THE GOLDEN GATE. 

called for the missionary, felt in conscience bound 
to cling to him, and when they knew his honest 
purpose, and became interested in his family, they 
wished to make things right without giving offense 
to any. 

Meanwhile I made a more personal acquaintance 
with Mr. Mines, and, on the following Sunday, 
assisted him in the service, when he gave out the 
one hundred and seventh selection of psalms, be- 
ginning with these words: "How vast must their 
advantage be, how great their pleasure prove, 
who live like brethren, and consent in offices of 
love." I remember the impression of that mo- 
ment. Memory is a mysterious faculty ! Not only 
things and events are remembered, but the sudden 
emotions in the deepest recess of our souls ! 
Memory alone will be sufficient to make heaven 
or hell. From that day Flavel Mines was to me 
a brother. Together we worked ; together we 
suffered tribulation, during the three years that he 
remained among us, for, on the eighth of August, 
1852, I assisted at his burial. 

The following Sunday being the first in Octo- 
ber, I preached again to the congregation of Trin- 
ity, and assisted in the communion. In the mean- 
time my friends had tried all means to settle mat- 
ters. They offered Mr. Mines $3,000 a year, if he 
should go and establish a mission in another part 
of California. But his friends were faithful to 
him also, and he could not consent. So the only 
thing left was to form another congregation, to 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 341 

build a church, and meanwhile Mr. Ward ofifered 
his residence for holdino- reofular services. 

And so during October, November and Decem- 
ber, the congregation of the to be Grace church, 
faithfully attended and steadily increased, whilst 
I found unceasing work in visiting the many sick 
and needy. 



342 THE GAMBLER'S BURIAL. 



CHAPTEK XII. 

THE GAMBLERS BURIAL. 

Whosoever has seen San Francisco in 1849 can 
easily understand that a minister of the gospel had 
plenty of work. Where there are now paved 
streets and broad sidewalks, lined with palatial 
mansions, and crossed by unceasing street cars, 
there was then nothing but a wilderness of sand- 
hills covered with scrub oaks, among Avhich the 
miner, the adventurer, the peddler, the gambler, 
had pitched their tents. Disease and misery were 
frequent, and not even the small private hospitals 
existed, which thereafter afforded some shelter to 
the unfortunate. Burials were frequent, and sel- 
dom attended with much ceremony. The first of 
the many I performed on the Pacific Coast was of 
a peculiar character. Where now Stockton street 
verges towards the bay, there was a slope on the 
then barren hill, known as the cemetery. Many 
were the head -stones which one could see from 
Mr. Ward's residence. Among them was the 
grave of his young wife, years thereafter exhumed 
and carried East. 

On the afternoon of the tenth of October I took 
a walk with my wife. We came near the burial- 
ground; we saw a crowd near an open grave. 
Probably attracted by my more or less clerical ap- 



THE GAMBLER'S BURIAL. 343 

pearance, one of the crowd came up to me, and 
respectfully lowering his slouched hat, said with a 
sorrowful voice; "Reverend Sir, might we ask you 
to read prayers over the young fellow we are 
bringing to his rest ? " 

*^ Who is he ? " I asked, somewhat surprised. 

"A good fellow, sir, a real good fellow; was 
shot last niofht in one of those saloons on the 
Plaza. But a good fellow, sir, indeed, sir." 

The man had the tears in his eyes. I was 
somewhat perplexed. But as he stood waiting, 
my heart became as soft as his. 

"Well," I said, "I shall read prayers for his 
poor soul." 

"Indeed, sir, he was a good fellow!" 

I followed him, and standing at the grave, I 
took my clerical ''vade mecum'' out of my pocket, 
and read such prayers as I thought most suitable 
for the circumstances. The whole crowd stood 
uncovered. The most solemn silence prevailed. 
Rough they were, those men, but many of them 
remembered "far-off home." And my Amen was 
indorsed by many, many voices. Then I re- 
mained, as was my custom, till the grave was 
filled, and the head-stone planted. 

"In the midst of life we are in death, brethren ! " 
I said, and turned to leave. 

The man who first came to me thanked me with 
a hoarse voice: " He was a good fellow, sir, a 
good fellow ! " 

Many were the burial services I performed on 



344 THE GAMBLER'S BURIAL. 

that place. A year thereafter the Yerba Bueiia 
cemetery was the place where I accompanied the 
dead to their last resting-place. At that time 
quite out of the city, so much so, that as the de- 
mands upon my services increased, I had to ask to 
perform the whole in the Grace chapel, unable to 
spare the time. Now the Yerba Buena cemetery 

is the site of the new citv hall ! Now the dead 

t/ 

are carried to the Lone Mountain, where four of 
my children rest, and which, perhaps, soon may 
have to yield its dead to the living who begin to 
surround it! 

General Keyes, one of the wardens of Trinity 
church, had kindly done his part in assisting the 
missionary. Through him I was appointed post- 
chaplain at the Presidio. The duties were easy, 
the financial help considerable. On my visit there, 
a few days after the funeral just mentioned, I was 
talking ^' religion " with one of the officers, when 
our conversation was interrupted by an intense ex- 
citement pervading the barracks. 

A young officer stormed into the room. 

^^ We have got them, at last ! " he exclaimed, 
and wiping the sweat from his face, he left. 

The officer with whom I was conversing, an- 
swered my inquiring looks by saying : 

*^ It is a sad affair. A midshipman on the Com- 
modore's ship, now in port with the ''St. Mary," 
was, on his return from a visit on shore, thrown 
overboard by the five sailors who manned the 
sloop. They wanted, it seems, to drown him, to 



THE GAMBLER'S BURIAL. 345 

go on land and escape to the mines. When he 
kept on swimming they struck him on the head 
with the oars, and steering for land made their 
escape. But the midshipman recovered in time 
from the stunninof blow, and succeeded in reach- 
ing shore. His brother is an officer in the army, 
quartered here, and immediately set out in pur- 
suit of the sailors. After a chase of some days 
they seem to have captured the miscreants. If I 
know Commodore Jones, who is a strict disciplina- 
rian, these five men will not have a long lease of 
life." 

Whilst glad for the midshipman and his brother, 
I could not help feeling for those five men, who, 
tempted by the prospect of liberty and riches, had 
yielded to our arch enemy, to gain nothing but a 
shameful death. 

And when I came home, I found my youngest 
son, just two years old, very ill of brain fever. For 
several days he had been suffering, but now the 
physician. Dr. Van Canneghem, a countryman of 
mine, w^as anxious. Day after day he became 
weaker and weaker, and after six days of agony, 
such as parents only can sufier, the doctor gave 
him up. 

I remember that evening 1 ^^ I can give you no 
hope," said he, "but I shall try a last resort, it may 
save him, but it is very doubtful." 

At that moment the chaplain of the Commo- 
dore made his appearance. He was a very young 
man, and evidently excited. " I come to ask your 



346 THE GAMBLER'S BURIAL. 

assistance," he said, ^* in preparing the five sailors 
who have been condemned to be hung to-morrow 
at noon. I have asked Mr. Wilhams, the Pres- 
byterian clergyman, and Mr. Hunt, the Baptist. 
I am young, the crew is mutinous, and I need all 
help." 

I confess to a moment of suspense. But the 
doctor encouraged me. "Go," he said, "your 
presence cannot save the child, and may do good 
to those poor men. I shall try a last resort ; go and 
do your duty, I shall do mine." 



THE GALLOWS. 347 



CHAPTEK XIII. 

THE GALLOWS. 

So I went. Coming on deck of the Commo- 
dore's vessel, I found there Mr. Williams and Mr. 
Hunt. We divided the work before us. I took 
charofe of two, the remaininof three were left to 
my partners. 

We went to the lower deck. The crew, some 
three hundred, looked angry ; five of their number, 
good comrades, had to be strung from the main- 
yard for having attempted to do just what they 
should like to do, run off to the mines and make a 
fortune. They forgot the attempted sacrifice of 
life ; they forgot the strict discipline so necessary 
on board a war vessel. They saw with disgust 
the three '^ ministers of the gospel " coming to 
prepare their comrades for a fate they did not 
seem to deserve. 

An ample space had been barricaded. There 
the five unhappy sailors were chained. My share 
was a handsome young man of eighteen, the 
younger brother of two Scotchmen who went by 
the name of Black, though it was known to be an 
assumed name, and an Irishman, tall and stout, 
who seemed more aggrieved than any of them. 
With great anxiety he wanted to '' confess." As 
I thought it might relieve him, and at any rate 



348 THE GALLOWS. 

enable me better to instruct bim, I listened pa- 
tiently, tbough suspecting tbat he took me for a 
Roman Catholic priest. What confessions this 
poor man made ! What sins unutterable ! John 
Black was less open-hearted. Perhaps the poor 
young man had less to clear. He was evidently 
a gentleman born. He said little of his previous 
life. He denied being guilty of murder. But he 
listened respectfully to my reading and praying. 

Meantime the sun had set. Darkness came, 
and a solitary lamp shed its ghastly light in the 
temporary cells of condemned humanity. The 
chaplain approached me and said : " Sir, the Com- 
modore requests you to exhort the crew, and to 
administer the holy communion." 

I could not help thinking well of Commodore 
Jones. Though very tired, I consented gladly. A 
table was spread in front of the prison. The bread 
and wine prepared. The crew came down, and 
with curious eye looked at the scene. The Com- 
modore came, his officers came, the ministers came. 
There was the silence of death. 

In a few words I exhorted the commander, the 
crew and the condemned men. I tried to make 
them understand what we were going to do, com- 
memorating the eternal sacrifice for the sins of 
commander as well as crew, as well as condemned 
prisoners. It was a strange scene ! The eager 
eyes of three hundred sympathizing souls looking 
on. The judge ready to receive the sacred ele- 
ments with those he had condemned to die ! 



THE GALLOWS. 349 

And when the words came : ^^ Ye who do truly 
and earnestly repent you of your sins, and are in 
love and charity with your neighbors . . . draw 
near with faith," . . . the rattling chains of the 
prisoners announced their approach, and down 
they knelt; down the commander knelt ; down the 
officers knelt ; down the ministers knelt ; down 
many of the crew knelt, and received the bread 
of life and the blood of Christ ! 

Once more I went to my poor prisoners ; 
I prayed with them and said : ^^ Now rest, early 
in the morning I come." I was tired, but could 
not sleep. Those poor men, within a few hours 
of their doom, were in my mind. My son, per- 
haps dying or dead, was in my mind. 

Early in the morning I was at their prison. 
Whilst speaking with the Irishman a sudden blast 
was heard, it was the usual morning reveille. It 
sounded gay and cheerful ; in sad contrast with the 
five chained men who at noon were to swing from 
the main-yard ! 

'^ That's the last time we may hear that !" said 
the Irishman. John Black kept silence, his dark 
eyes looked feverish. I read to them words of 
comfort, such as only can be found in the word of 
God. My clerical brethren had left the ship. I 
tried my best to cheer the poor men, holding up 
to them the joys of eternal life. 

Thus we passed the weary hours, when, at ten 
o'clock, there was heard the sound of men march- 
ing. They came near; they halted. One of 
them read from a paj)er : 



350 THE GALLOWS. 

"By order of the Commodore, are reprieved" 
♦ * * Then followed three names, amongst 
whom that of my Irishman, not that of the 
Blacks ! 

Shall I ever forget that moment? The men 
marched off as they came. There was a moment's 
silence. 

[Reprieve! blessed word, for one who in 
two hours' time expects to die a felon's death! 
They said little; they rocked to and fro; life was 
before them, and what more is needed than life 
for the poor soul ill prepared to die? 

What had happened? In the depth of night 
Peter Black, as it seems the leader of the whole, 
had taken pen and ink. A man of sense and 
education, he had written to the Commodore. 
"He and his brother were the only ones who 
attempted the midshipman's life. Why should 
^Ye lives be sacrificed when two only were really 
guilty ?" The Commodore, impressed perhaps by 
the Communion Service, had pondered; and when 
the morning dawn appeared, he had concluded 
that two lives were enough to pay for the attempt 
at one. 

How did it affect John Black, the younger 
brother, the handsome, misguided offender? At 
first he was stubborn. Refused to hear my words. 
The very sight of his now quiet and more cheerful 
comrades made him bitter. Then there came, as 
it were, spasms of horror. He and his brother 
to die a felon's death ! " Pete, Pete !" he cried 



THE GALLOWS. 351 

to one of the reprieved, himself a young Scotch- 
man, "don't tell them at home to what an end we 
have come." 

I could not reach him, as it were. "I did not 
do it; I did not do it!" he said as to himself. 
Then, as if conscience spoke sharply, he added in 
subdued voice, "But I tried, yes, I tried." From 
that moment I got his ear again. He prayed 
with me. He listened to me. When at once 
there was a stir. His brother Peter came ; he 
took leave from all. " Good bye, boys, good bye; 
keep straight; good bye, brother," and he kissed 
him. Then, with light elastic step he jumped 
into the boat which was to carry him to the "St. 
Mary," on board of which he had to be executed. 

Eleven had struck. The poor young man be- 
came more and more restless. Eighteen years of 
age is young to die a felon's death! "Pete, O 
Pete!" he cried to the young Scotchman, his 
more intimate comrade; "Pete, don't tell them 
at home to what an end we have come !" 

Then there was a troop of armed men coming. 
The condemned was freed from his chains, and 
resting on my arm, led forward to the upper deck. 
The three other prisoners followed with their 
chains. The whole crew was there. Three hun- 
dred men of all nations and ages, but all in angry 
mood. We slowly walked to the fore part of the 
vessel. Near the mast there was a stair. On 
top of the bulwark a scaffolding was built. In 
the middle hung the fatal rope, attached to an- 



352 THE GALLOWS. 

other running to the extreme end of the main- 
yard. 

Before ascending the stairs, John Black turned 
to the crew and said : " You see, comrades, to 
what an end I have come. Let it be a warning 
to you. But I did not want his life." This he 
said in a subdued voice, and turning, he began to 
ascend the stairs. I steadied his arm, speaking 
encouraging words, which probably were not 
heard. The noose was put over him, then the 
cap, and I began to read the prayer for the dying, 
when an excited voice cried out: 

^^ Come down. Doctor, quick, come down!" Re- 
luctantly I left him alone, and down stairs began 
to read my prayer loud, as one would pray for 
himself in great agony. 

Boom! it sounded from the "St. Mary," and 
those who were less preoccupied than I, may 
have seen Peter Black swinging from the main- 
yard. I prayed on, but a thundering shock came 
from below, and John Black went up with rush- 
ing noise. 

I hear it yet; I see yet that body shooting like 
an arrow along the rope, then swinging high up 
and falling down. No motion after that. I tried 
to finish my prayer; then arose, and passing 
through the frowning crew, sought rest in the 
cabin. But after a few moments the chaplain 
came, requesting me, in the Commodore's name, 
to address the crew, with a view to allay their 
anger. I went at once to the deck, and standing 



THE GALLOAVS. 353 

on some platform, I began by lifting up both 
hands, and saying loud the Lord's Prayer. Hats 
and caps had gone down, and the crew remained 
motionless ; some standing, some sitting on the 
yards, or any other place where they could hear 
and see. 

For about twenty minutes I spoke. As one 
who was deeply moved, I spoke. To the lifeless 
corpse, hanging at the end of the main-yard, I 
often looked and pointed. Thus much I remem- 
ber. Sorrow for the dead pervaded my speech ; 
it communicated itself to the crew, and w^hen I 
came down they remained long silent, and many 
a sleeve wiped a tear away. Then the body was 
lowered. A coffin was ready to receive it. When 
I came near, John Black seemed to sleep. His 
handsome face was handsome in the repose of 
death. I touched his head; his neck was broken. 
I gave a parting kiss on his forehead, and left. 

Already the boat was ready to receive the 
remains. Away it started to the Yerba Buena 
Island, where, with his brother, John Black w^as 
put to rest. Meanwhile the Commodore had 
sent me his thanks for my services, and soon a 
boat carried me on shore. It was near my board- 
ing-house. With a weary heart I walked the 
short distance. Was my son alive or dead ? And 
when I entered the room, my wdfe put her arms 
around my literally trembling frame. 

" Alive !" she said ; ^' and better, much bet- 
ter !" 

23 



354 THE GALLOWS. 

Two years thereafter I sat in my parson- 
age of Grace chapel, when a gentleman an- 
nounced himself as an English lawyer. He 
asked information concerning two brothers going 
by the name of Black, and said to have been ex- 
ecuted at San Francisco. 

" They were," said he, '^ of a very good family 
in Scotland. A relative had left them a legacy 
of £20,000." Hence the inquest. 



GRACE CHAPEL. 355 



CHAPTEH XIV. 

GRACE CHAPEL. 

My friends and future parishioners were hard at 
work to build a chapel for our use. James Ward 
gave a fifty- vara lot, corner of Jackson and Powell 
streets, rent free for a year. Lumber in those 
days was dear, as well as labor, when no mechanic 
would work under $16.00 a day. And it seems 
impossible now to realize that the building, twenty 
by sixty feet, clapboarded, with shingled roof and 
seven windows, should have cost $8,000. Yet so 
it was. There was a chancel, with two-side parti- 
tions, one for a vestry, the other for the choir; no 
benches, but rough planks. 

I remember the afternoon of the twenty-ninth 
of December, 1849 ! In the poor shanty, for 
more it was not, I sat on a bench marking the 
hundred prayer-books, a gift from the Philadelphia 
Bible Association. Sunday before, on Christ- 
mas, I had officiated for the last time at Mr. 
Ward's residence, and administered the holy com- 
munion. The following Sunday my little house 
of worship had to be inaugurated. What was to 
be its name ? I thouofht and thouo;"ht, till at last 
I marked Grace Chapel. And having finished 
my task, I placed the books on the rough benches, 
and going home prepared for the following day's 
service. 



356 GRACE CHAPEL. 

Among our friends a choir had been organized. 
I remember their names with a feeling of grati- 
tude. Mr. Van Nostrand was to preside at the 
parlor organ, a gift from another friend. Messrs. 
Lioomis, Benson, and Captain Lippitt, with my 
wife, formed the singing-choir. On Sunday 
morning they w^ere in their "very narrow" 
quarters. From my " very narrow" vestry- 
room I heard their preparations. A bell, the 
gift of Mr. Frank Ward, had been tolling. I 
peeped through the canvass partition. Sturdy 
miners came in and took their seats on the rough 
planks, taking up the prayer-books, and evidently 
in earnest. Others came. A few ladies, very 
few. At last the tolling bell ceased, the organ 
struck, and I walked to the altar. 

That morning service I shall not forget ! The 
responses were loud and clear. My first sermon 
listened to with attention. The offertory was 
read. The plates went round. There was not 
one silver piece on them ! I had nothing but gold 
to offer at the altar. There was an old clergyman, 
w^hose memory will always be dear to me. Dr. 
Fitch. He had come, I believe, from the Sand- 
wich islands. He often took the place of Flavel 
Mines. He assisted me in that opening service ; 
he assisted me often thereafter. He was a 
worthy man of God. 

In the afternoon I preached again, and for the 
first time did, what all parish ministers should do, 
I catechised the children. For there were chil- 



GRACE CHAPEL. 357 

dren among that multitude, and their instruction 
became one of my greatest cares. On the seven- 
teenth of the following month, January, 1850, I 
opened a parish school, where all children, without 
distinction of creed, were admitted free, and dur- 
ing five hours received instruction. In this work, 
heavy for a minister whose time Avas constantly 
engaged, I w^as kindly assisted by a lady w^iose 
name will always be dear to me. Miss Pettit. She 
followed my example, and worked for the sake of 
Christ. In a few weeks there were over seventy 
scholars. 

But, to return to my chapel, the choir objected 
to the narrow quarters, and the next Sunday 
was seated, and made itself heard, on an organ-loft 
above the entrance. And the rough planks made 
room for decent benches ; so that when the fol- 
lowing Sunday, being Epiphany, I administered 
for the first time the holy communion in Grace 
chapel, things had assumed a more '^ civilized " 
aspect. 

The day thereafter has also left a deep impres- 
sion on my mind. For whilst the chapel was 
building, Mr. Ward had taken care of the mis- 
sionary and his family. On the corner of Jackson 
and Powell a neat two-storied cottage had been 
erected. It was small, but afforded a comfortable 
home for my family. Its cost, I know, was 
$3,000. 

There, on Monday, the seventh of January, 
1850, we went our way; my little Alfred, yet 



358 GRACE CHAPEL. 

weak from illness, carried by Mr. Nelson, who 
afterwards died in the Sandwich Islands. It was 
nay first home in California, my home for four use- 
ful, happy years. The two tents I had brought 
with me became useless, and the neat furniture, a 
gift from Mr. F. Ward, made Grace parsonage 
look as tidy and comfortable as one could wish. 
Many were the friends who passed a pleasant 
evening in our small but cheerful parlor, escaping 
the thraldom of miserable boarding-rooms. And 
among my many acquaintances were some whose 
theological views did not coincide with mine; but 
when San Francisco "was comparatively a wilder- 
ness, all those who believed in Christ formed, as 
it were, a brotherhood. And with the Presbyte- 
rian Williams, the Baptist Hunt, yea, the kindly, 
good-natured Komanist Langlois, I had friendly 
ar^d pleasing intercourse. 

From my parsonage looking up to the south, I 
could see Trinity chapel with its cross, standing 
on a hiofher hill. It was accidental that our two 
chapels were so near. Our lot was given when 
the location of Trinitv was not known. It was an 
^^ accidental" rivalry, somewhat damaging the two 
congregations, much regretted by me. 

Looking down to the east, in a valley at the 
foot of Telegraph hill, I could see another little 
buildino: with a cross. It stood where now St. 
Francis's church is built. I once went in. A 
small shanty, but with altar carefully screened. 
In the week days a parish school, on Sunday and 



GKACE CHAPEL. 359 

holydays a church. A staircase outside led to the 
garret, where Langiois had his sohtary *•' parson- 
age." I met him, and we both were glad. He 
often came to see me, and once invited me to come 
on the following day. 

I came, and, without ringing the bell, as there 
was none, ascended the staircase, where I found 
his garret divided into several canvassed compart- 
ments. Lanoflois met me with his usual smile. 

'^ Some friends," said he, and introduced me to 
an ecclesiastic, whose healthy complexion indi- 
cated Italian blood. 

" Father Accolti," said my friend, '^ of the Wil- 
lamette mission." And one after another some 
five more made their appearance. They were 
Jesuits, who had been long engaged in the con- 
version of the Indians, but had removed their 
field of operations to San Francisco. And who- 
soever has seen their churches and colleges must 
confess that those six priests did not move for 
nothinof. In Father Accolti I found a " o^entle- 
man and a scholar." Fond of children, my little 
ones knew him soon. Our intercourse was 
pleasant, and though somewhat at variance with 
me as to the means, their aim was apparently the 
same. 

By some I was considered as what is called 
" Low Church." They Avere ignorant of the facts, 
and thought Grace chapel was in opposition to 
Trinity. Apparently they could not account for 
its being built in such near proximity. They lit- 
tle knew the curate of Bishop Doane ! 



360 GRACE CHAPEL. 

During the Lenten season I had daily services, 
and well do I remember the evening of Passion 
week, when, in the clear starlight, I could see the 
cross on Trinity chapel and that on St. Francis. 
Should our poor chapel remain without the sym- 
bol of our faith ? 

No ! In the nio^ht of Thursdav I had one erected 
on the front gable, and on Good Friday some of 
my congregation were startled. One of them 
expressed his dissatisfaction. 

"You are wrong," said he, ^'it will hurt you. 
You are ^ Low,' they are ' High ' Church. You 
have done away with a great attraction to your 
chapel.'"' 

^* I am as High as any," I answered, "I know 
no difference. Are there two Churches ? " 

The cross remained, but gave me some trouble 
in another way. For in those days many were 
the erring souls w^ho, driven by poverty, illness and 
distress, came to find solace at the chapel with the 
cross. Often, a weather-beaten sailor, or a hag- 
gard-looking woman came, and, before I could 
explain, were on their knees to confess their sins. 

One night I was called upon by two young 
men who wanted me to see their dying mother. I 
went and sat down near the bed of suffering. 
Having spoken some words of comfort, she began 
to relate what was the burden of her heart. I 
told her that if she truly repented, her sins were 
remitted. She brightened up, and asked me if I 
knew such and such a '^Father" in Philadelphia. 



GRACE CHAPEL. 361 

The truth flashed upon me. She had mistaken 
my creed. I was at the point of telling her so. 
But she was dying. She could not see the morn- 
ing. Why disturb her peace? I kept silence, 
and after commending her in prayer to the mercy 
of her Savior, I left. Even Father Langlois ap- 
proved of my course! 

Daily my work increased. Known by German, 
French and Spanish, they came to the missionary 
for marriages, burials and baptisms. Once a 
Spanish gentleman came with an Irish lady to be 
united in the bonds of marriage. All went well 
up to the moment when the groom had to repeat 
the solemn words. He tried, but laughed. He 
tried asrain, but lauofhed the more. I remonstrated. 
He tried again, but laughed so unceremoniously 
that I closed the book and went into the vestry- 
room. The poor woman was after me; she begged 
me to go on; he meant no harm. She was evi- 
dently much interested in that marriage. 

I was unwilling at first, but finally concluded 
to make him repeat the words in Spanish, which 
he did quite seriously; and whilst I w^rote out the 
certificate he apologized for his "misdemeanor." 

In the middle of February I was asked by 
several influential men to hold services in what 
was then called the "Happy Valley," then cov- 
ered with tents and shanties; only a few cottages. 
As far as I can now locate it, I think it was 
where now the Grand Hotel is situated, that I 
held my services in the open air. There was a 



362 GRACE CHAPEL. 

large and attentive audience. I continued these 
afternoon services for two months, always hoping 
for some clergyman to take it up. But at last I 
had to desist. My three chapel services, besides 
one week-day lecture, my parish school, my visit- 
ing and burying, were more than enough for me. 

I mention this to show what might have been 
done in those early times, if the right course had 
been taken, a bishop sent out with sufficient 
clergy to take the work in hand. But far from 
it ! Very far indeed ! That year the Board of 
Missions passed a resolution, " that the mission 
to California having performed what could be ex- 
pected, California was no more considered mis- 
sionary ground." 

It is difficult to imagine what was the purport 
of this resolution. But certain it is that on the 
Pacific the church was left to her own resources, 
and that Flavel Mine^, myself, and two or three 
other clergymen, who had no determined point of 
action, had to work our own way. And thus it 
remained for nesLrly four years, when in 1853 the 
General Convention began to notice California, 
and at last appointed a "Missionary Bishop." 

Flavel Mines was a man of thought and of 
what is called "high church" principle. Without 
"acknowledging" the distinction, the church for 
which I had left the communion of my ancestors, 
and in a then wild and rough country tried to 
work at the sacrifice of worldly prospects for my- 
self and family, was the church. Though friendly 



GRACE CHAPEL. 363 

with Romanists and all other '^ dissenters," I was, 
what I am now, convinced that the offspring of 
the church of England was the church. 

And thus Flavel Mines and myself were of 
one opinion. If the ecclesiastical authority in 
the East left us unprotected, if they had no juris- 
diction over Flavel Mines, w^ho never w^as a 
*' missionary," nor over me, whom they had by 
their action discarded, then we, the only rectors 
of churches, at that time, had a right, nay a duty, 
to assume some ^^ organized " position. Well do 
I remember that morning ! Flavel Mines was 
confined to his bed. Consumption w^as hard at 
work. But his spirit was alive, and when I sat 
at his bedside he spoke long and feelingly to the 
point. 

" The Russo-Greek Church," said he, " is -per- 
haps nearer to the true "organism" of the Catholic 
Church than any. How would it do to get Epis- 
copacy from them ! " 

I was startled. I had my doubts concerning 
the Kusso-Greek Church, and years thereafter I 
received the written proofs that my doubts were 
correct. 

" At any rate," said I, '^ we ought to call a con- 
vention of w^hat there are of clergy and responsible 
laity in California, and ^organize.' We then may 
call a bishop, whether from the east or from the 
west." 

Flavel Mines smiled, and giving me his hand, 
he said : " Let us do so, it may be best." Accord- 



364 ORACE CHAPEL. 

ingly, we set to work to call a convention. On 
Wednesday evening, July twenty-fourth, 1850, it 
met at Trinity chapel, when I preached the ser- 
mon on Es. 54 : 2, and administered the holy 
communion. The convention was duly organized, 
committees appointed, and we met the following 
morninof for '' discussion." 

Besides Flavel Mines and myself, there were 
two or three clergymen, of whom Mr. Moorhouse, 
who had beofan reofular services at Sacramento, 
was appointed with me to draw up a constitution. 
We did our best; but dropped the name of "Prot- 
estant Episcopal," and called it "the Constitution 
of the Church in California." 

After two days' debate, the constitution was 
adopted, with a few alterations ; the convention 
was*to be " triennial " instead of " annual;" so that 
the next convention was to meet on the first Wed- 
nesday in May, 1853. In this we certainly made 
a mistake. Then came the choice of a bishop. I 
got one vote, Flavel Mines two. The majority 
was for bishop Southgate, then returned from his 
mission to Constantinople, for whom I voted 
mvself 

Bishop Southgate declined. I wrote him an 
urging letter, but he declined, and for more than 
three years, the church in California was father- 
less. 



FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 365 



CHAPTEE XY. 

FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 

Meantime we worked on. Flavel Mines, in his 
little chapel on the hill, I in my little chapel on 
the slope down hill ; both doing our best ; both 
now and then assisted by clergymen who took a 
look at California. The year 1850 passed, and in 
1851 Grace chapel began to be too small for our 
growing congregation. The wardens and vestry 
spoke of building a suitable ^^ church." The reso- 
lution was finally passed. Subscription lists pre- 
pared. With one of them my wife started one 
morning, and returned with $2,000 on her list. 
The first was W. Burgoyne for $500 ; the next 
she visited, was Mr. Morehead, who so kindly re- 
ceived us at Valparaiso. Though a Presbyterian, he 
put down the same amount. Mr. Davidson, 
agent for the Pothschilds, though an Israelite, 
put down $250. 

I write this with a joyful remembrance, forget- 
ting, perhaps, others who gave as liberally ; but 1 
write it as I remember it, to show the large-, 
hearted spirit of those early Californians, a spirit 
which did not become narrow, as my own experi- 
ence amply has told me. 

In a week's time sufficient funds were raised to 
justify a beginning of operations. Architects 



366 FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 

there were none in those days ; so being myself 
of a ^^ constructive " disposition, I drew a plan, 
and offered it for inspection at the next vestry 
meeting. It was approved, and the church stands 
there yet, on the corner of Powell and Jackson 
streets, just as I designed it, except the spire, 
which is wanting. The lack of that spire shows 
that the funds were not sufficient. No, they were 
not. The whole building with the fiffcy-vara lot, 
came to more than $12,000. I write from mem- 
ory, and have no documents to go by. 

The new church was nearly completed, when 
on Sunday morning, twenty-second of June, a fire 
broke out, which came very near destroying the 
result of much care and labor. 

In those days a ^^ fire " was of more conse- 
quence than now. There were no fire engines; 
the whole city, what there was of it, was built of 
wood. People were careless, and the wonder is 
that no more fires occurred. 

The first one, which was of some consequence, 
was in the beginning of 1850. It swept away 
part of the buildings around the Plaza, most all 
of them gambling houses. That fire has left an 
impression on me for two reasons: The first, be- 
cause it caused great loss to my friend Frank 
Ward; the next, because I remember the Sunday 
morning when I preached in my chapel. The 
gambling hells had been destroyed, but on the 
smoking ruins the tables were replaced, and whilst 
I preached the gospel of Christ, we could hear the 



FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 367 

rattling of tlie dice and money! But on that Sun- 
day morning of the twenty-second of June, the 
fire was raging with still more fury. Up it swept, 
till the whole square in front of the new Grace 
church was in flames. The wind was violent, 
the scorchins: flames besfan to blacken the tower. 
Friends and neighbors carried off the furniture of 
my parsonage, and deposited it in Trinity chapel. 
Other friends, among whom Mr. Bucklay, a 
Romanist, who lost his all in the same fire, ex- 
erted all their power to save the church. Against 
the expectation of all, they succeeded. Grace 
Church was saved, and on the twenty-second of 
July, 1851, I preached there, and administered 
the communion, being assisted by the Rev. Dr. 
Huddard. 

But not only fires visited the city in those days, 
and apparently hindered its progress; I say ap- 
parently, for, indeed, the energy was so wonder- 
ful that when six, seven or more squares had 
been swept away, and thousands of people w^ere 
camping around the ruins, in a few weeks no 
traces of the fire could be seen; better and more 
substantial buildings were erected, and all seemed 
to go on as smoothly as ever. As I said, not only 
fires came, but a more insidious plague marked 
the end of 1850 and the beofinninof of 1851, 
a plague which carried off its hundreds of victims, 
and might have proved far more disastrous, were 
it not for the peculiarly healthy climate of the 
city, where the winds seemed to make up for 



368 FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 

what was lacking in human care. For of the 
filth and dirt in the many vacant lots, of the stag- 
nant water, the putrifying carcasses, one can 
scarcely form an idea. Had San Francisco not 
been on a peninsula, surrounded by ocean and 
bay, and not been constantly swept by the western 
winds, it would have become a plague-stricken 
spot, and never the Queen of the Pacific. 

Yet the plague came traveling from the East, 
and the Asiatic cholera soon marked its victims. 
The sixth of them was one far dearer to me than 
life. 

At ^YO o'clock in the morning Adelaide com- 
plained. The pain increased. I hastened to our 
physician. Dr. Hastings. When he came she was 
at the very beginning of *' collapse." Her suffer- 
insfs were such as to make her wish for death. 
*' Bury me under the chancel of the church," she 
said, " there I want to rest." 

Those who have read these memoirs, can under-, 
stand my feelings ; I was not reconciled to the 
loss, Giver of life ! How or what I prayed, I 
do not remember. We had a servant woman 
who, in the South, had become fully acquainted 
with the proper treatment. To the doctor's 
prompt and efficacious treatment, carefully observed 
by faithful Mary, I owe it that she recovered, as it 
were, from the very brink of eternity, to be my 
comfort and support up to this very day. 

She was saved ; but others were not, and many 
w^ere the stricken to whose bedside I was called. 



FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 369 

Among tliem there is one, whose name I forget, 
though afterwards I wrote to his grieving family. 
It was past midnight when I was summoned to 
his death-bed. A fine young man from the East; 
at ten o'clock he had left his friends in health. 
Now he was surrounded by them, grieving and 
weeping, for the " collapse " had set in, and the 
physician had left him to die ! Nothing remained 
but to point to the Physician who heals for all 
eternity. But this young man, nurtured by be- 
lieving parents, already looked to Him. 

To my prayers he answered a clear and heart- 
felt "Amen." Then he took my hand, and said : 
" Doctor, please write to my parents, that I died 
happy and believing." I promised him to do so. 
Then he said : "Please sing the hymn, * I would not 
live always.'" I must confess my emotion was too 
strong to sing. I gathered strength enough to 
read to him the beautiful hymn, from beginning 
to end. 

" Thank you, doctor," he said ; his hand, which 
held mine in a strong grasp, relaxed, and he fell 
" asleep." 

One night I was awakened by screams and yells. 
A lurid glare came through the windows. I sprang 
out of bed. Yes, it was on the hill-top; somewhere 
on the corner of Powell and Clay streets. There 
was the private hospital of Dr. Peter Smith. It 
was in flames ! Dr. Smith had done a ofood Avork. 
Among the many hospitals founded by individuals, 
his was, indeed, prominent by its healthy site, its 

24 



370 FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 

careful arrangements, and the conscientious attend- 
ance paid to the many invalids. It was cro^vded. 
Among the sick were many cholera patients. 

How the fire originated was a mystery. The 
building stood by itself. Incendiarism was sup- 
posed ; it was a fearful scene. A frame building, 
three stories his^h, it was soon a roarinof mass of 
fire. The sick people were being carried out and 
laid on stretchers, or on the ground. A few were 
carried to some cottage houses. near by. Among 
the sick, many died then and there ; others w^ere 
carried down hill, to a sort of county hospital, 
which had just been organized. Among them was 
a young sailor, whom I had often visited, and in 
whom I felt much interested. I conducted him 
safely to his new abode — where a few days after- 
wards I read the prayer for the departing over him 
— then I returned to the scene of disaster. Most 
of the sick had been disposed of 

Goinof into the cottao;"es, I found in one of them 
four poor men in the last stage of cholera. There 
they w^ere, stretched out on mattresses in the 
small parlor; some suffering grievously, some in 
the state of collapse, preparing to die. What 
messages I received to friends and family! During 
that dreadful night I saw but one minister of 
Christ who assisted in the dreary work. It was 
the Methodist generally known as "Father Tay- 
lor." 

When I returned to my home, just before day- 
break, I passed Dr. Smith sitting on some broken 



FIRE AND PESTILENCE. 371 

furniture, surrounded by men who spoke press- 
ingly, nay harshly. I stopped. They were men 
who had claims aofainst the Doctor, and wanted to 
enforce them. I went home sad and desponding. 
Could they not wait till morning? ! human na- 
ture, so selfish, so crusty ! Was it for thee that 
Christ became Man ? 



372 A BROTHER GONE TO REST. 



CHAPTER XYI. 

A BROTHER GONE TO REST. 

Liberal as had been the subscriptions, it was 
found that the church was in debt. If this is a 
bad predicament for individuals, much worse it is 
for churches, representing an '^ association of in- 
dividuals." For such is noAv the case. The Church 
is no more the energetic power, acting from one 
responsible centre. Each parish forms an asso- 
ciation, builds, and runs into debt. And none are 
responsible but the vestrymen, a body composed 
sometimes of men influential as financiers, not so 
much as members of the Living Church of Christ. 

Various means were suggested to prevent '^ at- 
tachment." Fairs and raflles were not yet so 
popular. But a sacred concert was proposed. 
Certainly the least objectionable, though a build- 
ing consecrated to the worship of God and the 
ministration of the holy sacraments should never 
be used as a place of amusement. For, even in a 
sacred concert, neither do the singers sing, nor the 
audience meet, to worship God. 

There was a German association called the 
Sangerhund. Kindly they offered their services; 
tickets were sold at ^ve dollars; the church was 
filled; the music was select; the net profits four- 
teen hundred dollars. But somehow or other, the 



A BROTHER GONE TO REST. 373 

money thus earned was not to profit ! With ra- 
diant faces some members of the vestry met that 
night at the parsonage, counted the money, and 
left it, against my dehberate wish, under my care. 

I put it with my own httle funds, some two 
hundred dollars, in my bureau, and went up stairs 
to bed. Meanwhile, a servant girl had communi- 
cated with her Sydney friends, who, in the night, 
hoisted the window, broke the locks, ransacked 
all; and when coming down in the earl}^ morning 
I found things upside down, and the church 
money gone with my own, probably a punishment 
for having, though unwillingly, assumed the tem- 
porary responsibility of treasurer! 

Some months thereafter another ^^ sacred " con- 
cert was suggested. Madame Biscaccianti kindly 
offered her services. An oratorio was performed, 
wherein several ladies of the parish took a part. 
It brought seventeen hundred dollars. The 
treasurer kept the money safe this time ! But yet 
the church w^as in debt. Several means were 
adopted, amongst them, I am sorry to say, a 
"fair." But at last the sale of the fifty-vara lot, 
all except the ground of the church and parson- 
aofe, made thinofs riofht: and thoucrh the little 
chapel, losing its cross, was transformed into a 
private dwelling, yet I was glad when fear and 
trembling ceased. 

In the meantime. Trinity chapel had been re- 
moved to Pine street, where an iron building was 
erected, which made a handsome church. Flavel 



374 A BROTHER GONE TO REST. 

Mines, more and more affected by consumption, 
worked to the last. But in the first days of Au- 
gust, 1852, he failed, and the spirit which so long 
had battled, was released, and left for the realms 
of rest and enduring happiness. 

On the sixth of that month the Kev. Dr. 
Clark performed the funeral services over his re- 
mains. I assisted, and would gladly have said a 
few words, but was not asked to do so. The body 
was deposited under the chancel of the church. 
And so the early companion of my mission work 
in California was gone ! I was left alone, a re- 
sponsible rector of a parish in the wide field of 
labor. There were some clergymen, but none 
seemed to suit the congregation ; and for a long 
time Trinity church was under the care of several 
ministers without charge, until the worthy Chris- 
topher Wyatt accepted a call, and arrived in the 
spring of 1853. Many a time I filled the pulpit 
of my deceased friend, and during October and 
November of 1852, I find on my record that I 
preached there every Sunday evening. 

Two days after the funeral of Flavel Mines I 
officiated at another one of a peculiar character. 
Henry Clay, the great statesman, had also gone 
to rest. A funeral ceremony was organized by 
the city authorities of San Francisco. I \vas ap- 
pointed to act as chaplain, an honor which I to 
this day gratefully acknowledge. A long pro- 
cession was formed. I took my seat in a carriage, 
with the Rev. Williams, and slowly we proceeded 



A BROTHER GONE TO REST. 375 

through the streets of San Francisco, until we 
reached the Plaza, where a large platform received 
us. The attentive crowd which filled the square, 
then empty, testified to the patriotic feelings of 
the Californians. I read a part of the funeral 
service and offered prayer. The Rev. Williams 
followed. Then a very impressive oration was 
delivered by Judge H. 

Three years since the first convention of our 
self-organized diocese, if diocese it could be called, 
had elapsed. On the fourth of May, 1853, I 
preached the second convention sermon in Trinity 
church. Clerical and lay attendance was small, 
and the business transacted very little, very few 
committees, very few reports, indeed ! But at 
least we had a brother rector asfain in the western 
metropolis ! I was not quite alone ! For about 
that time the worthy and zealous Dr. Wyatt came 
to take charge of Trinity church. And so well 
he succeeded in "calling," that soon the chapel 
had to be enlarged. 

During that time, the Lent season, he fre- 
quently ofificiated in Grace church, and I often 
thought that the hearty friendship which always 
existed between us, and which yet binds our souls, 
though far apart in space, took its beginning at 
those united services and prayers. For truly I 
may say that in him I found a friend; one who 
loved me for the Master's sake; one w^ho knew I 
was sincere, and whose conversation had the 
double attraction of the Christian and the gentle- 
man. 



376 A BROTHER GONE TO REST. 

Thus we worked, often interchanging, and 
doing the best we could in the fast-growing 
metropolis of the West. Those days have left 
a blessed impression in my memory. They were 
days of active work, with the sole aim of sowing 
the seed broadcast, not minding difficulties and 
disappointments. We both looked out for the 
General Convention to meet that year; we both 
hoped that the church ^' at home " would take 
some notice of distant California, and that our 
somewhat anomalous position might be regulated. 



AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 377 



CHAPTER XVII. 

AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 

Truly I had been blessed in my work ; blessed 
in the many friends who aided and encouraged 
me; blessed in my dear wife, whose energy and 
well deserved popularity increased my influence; 
blessed in my six children, who, under her care, 
''increased in stature and godliness." 

Often the conoj-reofation had to smile when Miss 
Gerty and Fanny, though differing in age, yet 
loving and dressed as twins, sat at the foot of the 
lectern, began to be lively, and were recalled to 
order by a motherly cough from the organ-loft. 
For there she assisted in the choir, at least for a 
lonof time, thus aidino^ with her voice in sino^inof 
the praises, whilst I tried wdth my voice to en- 
force the doctrines. 

They were happy times; yet not without their 
shadows of care; for, strange enough, when in 
1850 Grace parish was duly organized, and myself 
called to the rectorship, no provision was made 
for my support. Until then the offertory had 
supported me, and the chaplaincy aided much. 
I never thouo^ht of it; therein showinof more 
"child-like" confidence in Providence than worldly 
wdsdom. 

Thus matters continued. The offertory was 



378 AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 

always mine, and with heartfelt gratitude I pre- 
sented the contents on the altar. But when the 
chaplaincy was suppressed, and the offertory be- 
came fashionable, but not the liberal offering of 
men who liked to help the " missionary " along ; 
when, with increase of family, my expenses in- 
creased, I began to feel the necessity of a reliable 
income. 

I wrote to the Vestry and stated the case. I 
asked them to be responsible for a salary of four 
hundred dollars monthly. In a time when a 
servant girl's Avages were ninety dollars, and I 
had to pay the sexton as much, this was not too 
much ! 

To my utter astonishment the Vestry an- 
nounced, through Captain Lippitt, now General, 
^Hhat they could not do so." As Captain Lippitt 
was our intimate friend, and took a hearty inter- 
est in our affairs, all further action was judged 
unavailing. 

At that time there were no schools in San Fran- 
cisco, except a beginning of public schools ; the 
number of young ladies had vastly increased ; all 
born in the East, and accustomed to careful train- 
ing. My ow^n children began to need better in- 
struction than they could get at the parish school ; 
and even that I had been obliged to give up since 
the sale of the chapel. 

St. Mary's Hall, of Burlington, loomed up in 
my ardent imagination ; earlier times, devoted to 
the instruction and guidance of youth, loomed up. 



AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 379 

Many of our friends encouraofed the idea of an 
institute for young ladies, which I might combine 
with my pastoral care, and, with the popularity 
and tact of my gifted wife, this might have 
proved a success, Avithout interfering with my 
duties in the church. 

But — shall I say ^^providentially," or unfortu- 
nately? — at the moment when these matters were 
in serious consideration, I was requested to admin- 
ister the sacrament of baptism to three children 
in Sonoma. I went there, not sorry for a few days 
to see somethinof more of California than San 
Francisco, where I had been a captive during 
four years of constant labor ! That Sunday Rev. 
Wyatt and Dr. Huddart kindly officiated for me. 

I went with a sort of '^ expectation," for about 
that time some friends had told me that General 
Vallejo expressed himself very desirous of seeing 
an educational institute established in Sonoma. 
Three of his own daughters needed further train- 
ing, and I was made to understand that his resi- 
dence, a very spacious building, would be placed at 
my disposal. The climate w^as not to be excelled 
in healthiness, the access from the city easy by 
the little steamer. All this made me go to So- 
noma with an ^' expectant " disposition. 

For one, who during four years had seen noth- 
ing but the bracing, yet foggy and windy atmos- 
phere of San Francisco, seen nothing but its 
crowded and, then at least, very uncomfortable 
thoroughfares, Sonoma Valley was certainly a sort 
of paradise. 



380 AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 

And Avhen, in the evening, I paid a visit to the 
hospitable General, and found him in a large room, 
surrounded by his numerous family, sitting as a 
youthful patriarch, before a cheerful fire, I was most 
agreeably impressed. He repeated what my 
friends had told me, and expressed his opinion that 
Sonoma was a very favorable locality for an insti- 
tution as I intended to form. 

But, returning home, I found my trusty wife, as 
ever, on the side of prudence. Her woman's in- 
stinct, if I may use that expression, felt here, as 
at BrusselSj as in Burlington, that all change 
was not an improvement. She felt that God had 
blessed my work in San Francisco ; that there 
was my field of action, there my friends, there my 
providential sphere. ^ 

However, she consented to visit, with me, the 
*•' valley of paradise.", She was, of course, favor- 
ably impressed with all, not least the General's 
kind reception ; yet we returned without decision. 

How it finally came to pass, I do not know. 
This only I remember, that after two months sus- 
pense, a vestry-meeting was called, wherein I 
laid the case before the members. With their 
consent, I should establish St. Mary's Hall for 
young ladies in Sonoma, w^eekly attending to the 
services in the church, and if within a year the in- 
stitute did not prove successful, I should return to 
the city, thus reserving the rectorship for a year. 

Whether this was a rational and practical 
action, I do not know; but thus it was resolved; 



AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 381 

and now began, towards the end of August, 1853, 
the turmoil of movinof and arrano;"ino\ This was 
made more difficult by the sudden withdrawal of 
General Vallejo's offer of his ancient residence, of 
which, for some reason or other, he could then no 
more dispose. 

As the withdrawal of Commodore Stockton's 
offer, so this was a sort of premonition. But, as 
then, I thought we had gone too far to retreat; 
and I hired, at very great cost, the house of Mrs. 
Fitch. On the first of September, 1853, St. 
Mary's Hall was opened, and with a goodly 
number of scholars, we began our arduous task. 

For such it was, considering the difficulty of 
communication, that of obtaining competent assist- 
ants, and the various nationalities of our pupils. 
But in all this we were favored beyond expecta- 
tion. The little steamer took me every fortnight 
over to the city, at the moderate cost of ten dol- 
lars ! We were very happy in securing the assist- 
ance of responsible and able teachers, and our 
Spanish senoritas proved to be at least as docile 
and faithful as some of our American pupils. 

Every fortnight I went to perform the services 
in my church, and to see at least some of our 
dear parishioners. The other Sundays the Bev. 
Morofan officiated. 

Meanwhile, at the General Convention of 1853 
the Church had at last shown an interest in Cali- 
fornia ! At last a missionary bishop had been 
appointed, and the Bt. Bev. Ingraham Kip had 
arrived, I believe, in the beginning of January. 



382 AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 

Welcome was the sight of an apostolic father 
to the few presb^^ters who had been holding up 
the flag of truth as best they could ! And I re- 
member the joy wherewith my excellent friend 
Dr. Wyatt showed me the bishop's chair, which 
he had expressly made for the first bishop of 
California. 

His eloquent sermons drew the people, and 
when my parishioners heard him, there arose 
among the vestry a wish to hear him oftener; 
the wish was uttered to the bishop, who referred 
them to me. 

And so one day I received a kind letter from 
the vestry, stating "that it was in the interest of 
the church that I should either return to San 
Francisco, or, resigning the rectorship to the 
bishop, remain in relation with the parish as 
assistant rector." 

Only four months had elapsed of the year 
which the vestry had agreed to give as a trial. 
Thus far the trial had been only moderately suc- 
cessful. I remember the night I passed in some- 
what painful reflection. St. Mary's Hall was, at 
that time, the only school in the State, where 
young ladies could receive a refined education, 
certainly the only school of our church. Its 
foundation was laid, and though, at that very 
moment, I had to encounter very great financial 
difficulties, in many respects I had met with en- 
couraging tokens of appreciation. 

But the parish which I had founded, the 



AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 383 

church which I had helped to build, it did suffer 
by my necessary absence; and the prospect of 
seeing it grow under the bishop's care was a 
strong inducement to strengthen my wavering 
mind in the final resolution to which I came. 

Thou knowest it, Fountain of Truth, Thou 
knowest it! With a heavy heart I went down 
that morninof to see the senior warden. With a 
heavy heart I told him my perplexed feelings, for 
Grace parish had been the reward of my almost 
reckless sacrifice in going to the western coast; 
Grace parish has been nursed by me wdth tender, 
unceasing care, and in Grace parish were many, 
many souls who loved me (yea, after twenty years, 
I now meet many w^ho with affectionate love re- 
member me); but I did believe that I had to give 
it up to better, stronger hands, and to continue 
my work in St. Mary's Hall, whilst my remaining 
assistant rector somewhat lessened the grief of 
utter separation. 

So, then, I gave my consent, but with the ^7^0- 
viso (to use a legal term!) that if the bishop's re- 
lation should cease, I w^ould resume the rectorship. 
I now must smile at my simplicity; years have 
brought a little more experience, though only a 
very little ! 

From that time I officiated in Grace church 
whenever the bishop, obliged to be absent on 
official duty, sent me word. On the fifth of Oc- 
tober, 1854, I assisted at the consecration of the 
church, which had cost us so much trouble and 



384 AGAIN A TEMPTATION. 

anxiety. And on the seventeenth of December 
I officiated for the last time, as assistant rector, in 
Grace church. My last sermon was on " Charity." 
Little did I know that my sermon would have so 
little effect on some! 

For, in the following week, I received from the 
vestry a communication to the effect that, "since 
my relation to Grace church was a hindrance to 
its prosperity, it had been found necessary to re- 
scind my appointment as assistant rector; allow- 
ing me, however, the year's salary as such." 

There was a mixture of rudeness and politeness 
in that communication! My relation to the 
church which I founded w^as a hindrance to its 
prosperity; but some two hundred dollars of not 
earned salary were given as a redeeming fee! 

The resolution had been taken in the absence 
of the bishop and of three of my most intimate 
friends of the vestry, one of them a warden. 

I was somewhat perplexed. I wrote to the 
warden, " that while I accepted the summary 
^dismissal,' I wished to know in what my relation 
was obnoxious to the church ; since, these things 
being recorded, it was important for me to know 
in what I had offended." 

The answer was, " That on account of my for- 
eiofn accent I was not understood." 

I was sorry. I had preached four years in Bur- 
lington, and was understood; I had preached four 
or five years in San Francisco, and was under- 
stood. I tried to practice the lessons of charity 



AGAIN- A TEMPTATION. 385 

which I had given in my last sermon. I try to 
do so now. And whilst I write these lines I be- 
think myself that next Easter Sunday I must 
preach to a congregation of colored peoj)le, in a 
building just opposite the old Grace parsonage, 
where twenty -one years ago I wrote many a ser- 
mon. I ho]3e those poor children of African de- 
scent will understand me ! 



25 



386 ST. MARY'S HALL, SONOMA. 



CHAPTEH XVIII. 

ST. MARTS HALL, SONOMA. - 

The remembrance of Sonoma is very mixed. 
Many happy days we passed there ; some very, 
very full of care and sorrow. But, Thou knowest 
it, O God of my life, I was serious and diligent in 
my self-imposed task. Self-imposed, because I 
sought it, whilst the work for which I was ordained, 
and in which Thou hadst blessed me, was appar- 
ently laid aside ; and I undertook, what is most 
difficult of all, the training of young minds, of 
various conditions, of various nationalities, of var- 
ious ages. 

Yet, my ministry I did not put aside. No, I 
did not! Our institute was to be a church-school, 
and no day, no holyday, no Sunday, passed with- 
out its appropriate services. Yea, when General 
Vallejo offered me a spacious room in his old resi- 
dence, I held stated services on Sunday, during 
more than three months. They were well at- 
tended, better than I could expect. ^ 

But our scholars increased in number, and when 
the General put his residence at my disposition, 
thus kindly redeeming his first promise, these 
public services became difficult. I could not make 
St. Mary's Hall, the place where so many daugh- 
ters of the church received their education, a place 



ST. MARY'S HALL, SONOMA. 387 

of public meetings, and confined henceforth my 
praying and preaching to those who were confided 
to my care. 

And the work succeeded well. For in 1855 
the number of our pupils nearly filled the spacious 
mansion, so that I had to make improvements in 
an older building- annexed to it, and thus incurred 
heavy expenses. The building has since been de- 
stroyed by fire ; a short description of it may give 
an idea of General Vallejo's " constructive powers,'' 
and of St. Mary's Hall, when nestling in its heavy 
adobe walls. For such thev were, four feet thick, 
all round, between all rooms, so that not a sound 
could be heard from one room to another. It had 
the form of the letter L, fronting on the plaza one 
hundred and twenty feet, the same length at right 
angles, two stories, with an immense garret, 
both stories with broad verandas, in the front and 
ill the rear, on which each room had an outlet. 
The upper veranda was inclosed with glass win- 
dows. The class-room, the parlor, the sitting- 
room, the dining-hall, were each sixty feet long by 
twenty wide. • The other rooms were more "than 
fourteeen in number, and twenty feet square. In 
the rear was an extensive vinevard, and vesfetable 
garden. 

Many and satisfactory were the examinations 
and exhibitions held in the presence of jDarents 
and friends, and many the praises St. Mary's Hall 
received in the public papers of those days. But 
when the Rev. Sheppard opened a church institute 



388 ST. MARY'S HALL, SONOMA. 

at San Francisco, there was a decrease in my 
pupils from that quarter; and, in any establish- 
ment of that kind, a decrease is the forerunner of 
dissolution. 

In the meantime, I had become involved by the 
necessary expenses for the enlargement and fitting 
up of the institute, and many were the days of 
anxiety in the midst of the somewhat monotonous 
routine of a school. Yet I was aided by the pru- 
dent care and constant exertions of my trusty 
wife; and confident in my- honest purpose, we 
struQfSfled on till October, 1856, when durinof vaca- 
tion, my wife made a visit to her San Francisco 
friends. 

During that vacation I was once very busy 
with the construction of a duck-pond. I remem- 
ber that day, and, as autobiographies are neces- 
sarily egotistical, I must be allowed to tell my 
own story. It may show how fortunes were 
made in those days by those who knew liow I 

A year before, our music teacher had been 
obliged to leave us. She had undertaken to find 
us one who could take her place, though we 
scarcely expected to be so fortunate. 

One evening there came to us a lady and 
gentleman, of German birth. The lady was 
mother of a babe a few month's old, a sweet and 
amiable-looking person. They had been recom- 
mended by our former teacher. They had come 
in full expectation of being accepted. I remem- 
ber that evening. We were somewhat puzzled. 



ST. MARY'S HALL, SONOMA. 389 

We wanted a teacher, but not a gentleman and a 
baby besides. We may have said thus much in 
polite terms. But the husband, a slender gentle- 
manly man, seemed to take it for granted that we 
could do no better. 

"Allow my wife," said he, opening the j^iano, 
'Ho play, and you will see." 

The lady sat down, and played, without notes, 
but played so as to captivate our feelings at once. 
Genius and tact guided those nimble fingers when 
rushinof alonsf the kevs ! When the last notes of 
her fantasia had resounded, the husband with a 
satisfied smile asked: "What do you say now?" 

Well, the agreement was made, and for a salary 
of $100 a month, Mrs. D. would begin her duties 
next day. The husband took rooms next door, and 
took charge of the baby, whilst the mother was 
from morning till evening engaged at St. Mary's 
Hall. - 

And who was Mr. D. ? A young German who, 
with his wife, had been invited and pressed to 
leave his country and come to Philadelphia, where 
a rich uncle promised him advantageous posi- 
tion. 

But when there, the rich uncle forgot his prom- 
ise, his wife in particular did not "take" to the 
"poor relation," and the young man chafed under 
the yoke of dependent poverty. 

"Give me enough to reach California," said he 
to his uncle, "and I shall find my way." 



390 ST. MARY'S HALL, SONOMA. 

The uncle gave them jiLst what was enough, and 
when they came to us, they were penniless. 

For two months he remamed in the room of our 
neighbor watching the baby, aided by his wife, who 
at stated hours, made a " neighborly" visit. Then 
with the money saved, he set up a small store in a 
sort of shanty. There he continued for a few 
months; then was taken as partner, in a well-to-do 
grocery store. 

From that time began a systematic economy, 
much to the disgust of his really refined w4fe. 
"Give me ten years' time," he used to say, in an- 
swer to her complaints, " and you will be well 
off." 

He kept his word to the letter. Within ten years 
he bought his partner out, built a beautiful resi- 
dence with flowery grounds, and, whilst I write 
this, is traveling in Europe with his Avife. He is 
worth over $100,000. 

Well, to return to my duck-pond. The amiable 
Mrs. D. stood looking on. I was low-spirited. My 
prospects were doubtful. I gave way to com- 
plaint. 

''My dear doctor," she said, " you are wrong to 
complain. You have a great many blessings. 
Such a wife, and all your children in good health." 

This much I remember. She may have added 
more reasons for contentment. But I only re- 
member these. 

I remember them on account of what so soon 
was to happen. I remember them when they 



ST. MARY'S HALL, SONOMA. 391 

were spoken. I remember how I received them. 
I hear the sound of her voice. I see the spot 
where I was looking when she spoke them. I re- 
member the feelings which they aroused in me. 
No more I remember. 

Memory ! thou art a mysterious faculty 1 When 
the body is gone, shall all be memory ? Or does 
memory disappear loith the body ? 



392 FOUR ANGELS. 



CHAPTEE XIX. 

FOUR ANGELS. 

Next to the remembrance of the comfortino- 
words of Mrs. T>., comes, as it were in immediate 
succession, the moment of joy and happiness, 
when a few days thereafter, the stage was stop- 
ping before the Hall, and I stood, with our seven 
children, dressed in their best, and ranged accord- 
ing to age, ready to receive the beloved mother. 

It was a moment of joy, and, I must confess it, 
of pride. For they were lovely and in blooming 
health, the oldest a boy of thirteen, the youngest 
a sweet girl of three. Gertrude, Fanny, Amy, 
Bella and Ida made a cluster of innocence, differ- 
ent in ages, different in appearance, but all fra- 
grant, as it were, with the perfume of tender 
motherly training. 

And with the trusty mother came the even 
course of school life, study and play and 
prayers. A fortnight passed, when, on the fif- 
teenth of November, little Bella, now in her fifth 
year, began to complain of sore throat. Diph- 
theria was then makinof sad havoc throuofh the 
whole country. A few weeks before I had read 
funeral service over two children of a neighbor, 
who died of that disease. We were startled, and 
more so when Amy and Ida began to complain. 



FOUR ANGELS. 393 

The physician was called; an able man, but un- 
acquainted with the disease then coming as a 
scourge over many families. He applied the only 
remedy, a caustic, to the throat, but in an ineffi- 
cient manner. 

The following day, the sixteenth, was Sunday. 
I held the usual service, and catechized. It was 
the last catechism for poor dear Fanny ! 

But in the niofht I watched with Bella and 
Amy. ! the sweetness of a child when on the 
bed of sickness ! Thirsty was Bella, asking con- 
tinually to drink or rinse her throat. Once I had 
holpen her, she laid back and stretched out her 
arms. ^' What is it, dear ? " I asked. 

*^ I want to kiss you," she said. 

On Monday morning, the seventeenth, we sent 
a letter to Dr. Hastings, of San Francisco ; but, 
for the first time, the staofe had left an hour earlier. 
The physician thought Bella was better; but dur- 
ing the night she grew worse, and Amy Avas with 
fever, and Gertrude suffered. 

When Tuesday morning came, the eighteenth, 
my dear wife was desponding : " To-day's psalms 
are sad," she said ; "they are the funeral psalms." 
Yet toward evening little Bella seemed to improve, 
and thanked me for a flower I brousfht her. 

But on Wednesday morning, the nineteenth, 
she sank rapidly and seemed to agonize. All the 
children were in the room. On sister Gertrude's 
lap she w^anted to lie, and there she was appar- 
ently dying whilst I read the prayer for the de- 



394 FOUR ANGELS. 

parting. They were moments not to be forgotten ! 
But towards noon she rallied; and she continued 
to do so, when at eight o'clock she began again to 
fail. She seemed to suffer much, but was always 
conscious. After midniofht the last struofoj-le had 
begun. 

Restless she tossed from side to side ; but seeing 
us weep, she stretched out her little hands, and 
said : " Don't cry, mamma." Then she took my hand 
and that of her^mother, and said very slowly, but 
in a deep voice, and distinctly : ^' Good hye, papa, 
mamma" 

All at once she sat up in the bed, stared long at 
Amy, lying in high fever in another bed and look- 
ing at her. Very long did her dark blue eyes rest 
upon Amy, then she said, with startling rapidity: 
^^ Come Amy, come!" and sank back. 

Those were her last words. I closed her eyes, 
and we went out on the veranda, grieving over 
the first angel who had left us, and seeing the sun 
rise over our grief. The clock had stopped at the 
very minute. The same occurred at the death of 
my mother. 

That Thursday morning the daughters of Gen- 
eral Vallejo, and many other friends, came and 
laid Bella out. In the first dormitory she was 
laid, crowned with laurel and olive leaves, a little 
cross, the gift of Mrs. Wickham, on her breast, an 
olive branch in her hand. Lights were burning 
at the headside, and constant watch was kept. 
That day and the following, the four remaining 



FOUR ANGELS. 395 

children seemed to improve under the medicera- 
tion prescribed by Dr. Hastings. 

But on Saturday morning the mother perceived 
little bkie spots on Ida, the youngest one. Her 
heart sank. She felt the child was lost to us. 
Towards ^ve o'clock she held her on her lap. 
She answered little questions quietly. Her spirit 
fled ! Sh.e was gone without any struggle ! 

Next to her sister Bella she was laid out. They 
indeed looked like two angels ! If it was hard to 
miss them, one could not but feel sure that they 
were in paradise. 

. The Sunday was one of painful preparation and 
dreadful suspense; for Fanny and Amy were very 
ill, and I had to prepare a resting place for their 
sisters ; a temporary resting place, until they 
should be buried in the Lone Mountain cemetery. 
This was the wish of little Amy, who, a year be- 
fore, had walked over that burial ground, and liked 
it so well ! 

In the midst of the garden, behind the house, 
was a private vault, where two months before I 
had read the funeral service over a grandson of 
General Yallejo. There was another small coffin 
there ; I found room enough for my two little ones. 
The service was appointed for the following morn- 
ing at ten o'clock. Then I read the usual Sunday 
service, and went to watch the sick ones, wherein 
we were kindly assisted by many friends. 

And so on Monday, twenty-fourth November, 
I read the funeral service over the two little an- 



396 FOUR ANGELS. 

g^eh. There was a large attendance. My wife 
was there ; it was very trying to both of us ! 
General Hooker was one of those who went with 
me to the vault. That night I watched with 
Amy. 

On Tues(Jay morning the doctor gave her up. 
She vomited blood, all blood. Towards evening 
we carried her into another room. At seven 
o'clock beofan the last struofale. 

All at once she joined her hands. She began, 
^^ Hallowed be Thy name," and said the whole 
prayer ; then her usual evening prayer: " Lord, 
make me a good child ; bless papa and mamma, 
my brothers and sisters, aunt Emily, aunt Barto- 
line, uncle James, and uncle George ;" then she 
added her usual evening verses : ^' Now I lay me 
down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my 
soul to take, for Jesus sake. Amen." 

She prayed all this clearly and distinctly; then 
she said: "To-morroiu I shall see Bella.'' 

These were her last words; like Bella had said : 
^^Come, Amy, come.'' 

In a few, minutes she was gone ! 

Oh, what agony filled our hearts, when that 
dear body was laid out on the same spot where her 
two sisters had been taken the preceding day! 

That niofht General Hooker watched with her. 
Oh, how beautiful she was! How serene that 
upright, conscientious face ! 

Three were gone of the five daughters. Ger- 



FOUR ANGELS. 397 

trude and Fanny seemed to improve; both, had 
been allowed to read in their beds ; the last book 
Fanny read was '' Edward and Miriam." 

But the eye of Fanny became sorer, and on the 
following Thursday, November 27, the doctor said 
he feared erysipelas. In agony, I sent for other 
physicians. Dr. Rope came and Dr. Todd, and 
had consultations with Dr. F., but gave little 
hope. 

Whilst this agony went on, I had to see where 
to place Amy. There was no more room in the 
vault. So I carried Bella and Ida out to the 
garden house, and concluded to place there Amy 
also. 

At one o'clock I read the funeral service. Her 
heart-broken mother was there, and in agony 
prayed that at least Fanny might be spared! 
Then we brought her out, and placed her with her 
sisters. 

In the afternoon Dr. Fourgeaud arrived. He 
at once realized the hopeless condition of Fanny, 
and the danger of Gertrude, as well as of my dear 
Avife herself, being seriously affected with the dis- 
ease! 

About ten o'clock at night we laid down to rest, 
but at eleven Fannv called for her father and 
mother. She began to step out of the bed, when 
they did not call us immediately. When I came, 
she stretched her poor cold arms out to me. Her 
eyes were nearly shut. Her death-struggle had 
begun. 



398 FOUR ANGELS. 

"Papa," she said, whilst I kissed her, "papa, 
where is mamma? I want to see mamma." 

Her woe-stricken mother came. To her she 
stretched out her arms. She wanted to lie on her 
lap. I asked her if she was willing to go to the 
Lord Jesus. She said, " Yes, papa." 

I sat down beside her bed. Her thirst was un- 
quenchable ; she constantly vomited blood. It 
was a terrible siofht ! The whole niofht she con- 
tinned in agony. 

On Friday morning, the twenty-eighth of No- 
vember, her brother came in. I had w^ritten a 
notice of her departure for the papers. I gave it 
to my son. He took leave of her. 

" Where is Malan going ? " she asked. 

" To do an errand," said I, " and you are going 
to the Lord Jesus, my dear Fanny ; are you con- 
tented ? " 

" Yes J papa,^^ she said, " to-day I shall be better. ^^ 
These were her last words ; in a few minutes she 
departed. It was half past eight. 

The clock stopped with this last child, like with 
the first, like with my mother. 

In the evening, at half past seven, I read 
service over my dearest Fanny ! Within a week 
this was the third time over four beautiful, bloom- 
ing, amiable children, the very light of my house- 
hold, the very joy of my weary, long and check- 
ered path. We carried her to the garden-house, 
where we placed her coffin next to those of her 
three sisters. 

On the following day, the house was full of 



FOUR ANGELS. 399 

sympathizing friends. We recovered from ter- 
rible shocks. Gertrude was still in danger. 
But, through the careful local applications of Dr. 
Fourgeaud, she was enabled, on the following 
Wednesday, being the third of December, to go 
with us all to San Francisco, for Sonoma had be- 
come to us a place of too mournful remembrance to 
stay there longer. 

In the city, we received the hospitality of Cap- 
tain Far well and his accomplished lady. There I 
remained three days with my desolate wife and 
slowly recovering child, and then went to Sonoma 
to reo'ulate thino^s, and brinof the mortal remains 
down to San Francisco. 

Six days I was in this large and deathlike house, 
until on Friday, twelfth of December, early in 
the morning, I placed the four coffins on two 
wagons. Following in a buggy, with my eldest 
son, we went to Lakeville, where, at ten o'clock, 
we stood on the wharf, expecting the steamer. 

At last it came and stopped. The four coffins 
were placed on board. In deepest gloom, I sat 
down watching over them. At four o'clock we 
arrived at the crowded wharf, when they were 
taken out, and three of them placed in a hearse. 
There was no room for more ; so I took the fourth, 
sweet Ida, in the carriage, wherein our friend, 
Col. Turner, accompanied me to the Lone Moun- 
tain cemetery, where they were placed in the re- 
ceivino' vault. 

It was the eve of Ida's third anniversary! Her 
first and last journey out of Sonoma! 



400 CHRISTIAN LOVE. 



CHAPTEE XX. 

CHRISTIAN LOVE. 

This dispensation of Providence came in a time 
when our efforts to establish a Christian school for 
dauofhters of the church had received a severe 
check, as I have hinted in a preceding chapter. 
Worldly tribulations were allowed to add to the 
weiofht of sorrow. 

Was it to make us think less of worldly griev- 
ance, that Thou laidst our hearts low bv takinof 
from us the treasures we loved best ? Thy ways 
are dark to us, Providence of God ! very 
dark. But I often have thought that Thou didst 
hide the treasures in Thy paradise, that we, 
naturally bewailing their loss, should be the less 
affected by the mortification of temporal losses. 
Or was it that Thou wishedst to give Thy servants 
occasion to show their love and esteem for Thy 
minister, not only by words, but also by actions ? 

Such it would now seem to me. But who can 
find it out ? Thy Providence acts by thousands of 
threads, and the word of Thy Eternal Son must 
be true : " Even the hairs of our head are 
counted." 

And so are our tears, and our secret doubts, 
and our misgivings, and our moments of light; 
they are all counted and marked in Thy book! 



CHRISTIAN LOVE. 401 

When, on the third day of December, I left 
that house of mourning, and with my wife and 
suffering Gertrude, the only remaining of the five, 
.sat in the stage, which was to take us to the boat, 
a letter was handed me, arrived by express from 
San Francisco. I opened it. Handwriting un- 
known ; no signature ; only these words : 

" I was sick and thou visitedst me," with a 
check for one hundred dollars. I never could find 
the Christian's name w^ho so touchingly gave me 
a substantial proof of his sympathy, and so for- 
cibly brought me to the feet of my Redeemer ! 

In these memoirs I have recorded many acts of 
kindness, but conscience tells me that a deep sense 
of gratitude leads me to do so. I thus recalled 
my Father's love and praise, and Lady Marie's 
trusty friendship, and many others I have already 
mentioned in America. Risking the appearance 
of egotism, I shall go on with my record in all 
simplicity. 

But if this letter and gift did much to soften 
the sadness of our return to San Francisco, how 
were we affected when, reaching the city, we 
found our bereavement mentioned in the papers 
already, with an eloquence of Christian sympathy 
such as can only be appreciated in an enlightened, 
refined community ! One of those notices I have 
preserved, scarcely thinking ever to use it in 
these memoirs ! Under the heading of ^' Topics 
of the Day," it has these words : 

26 



402 CHRISTIAN LOVE. 

"The most afflicting dispensation it has ever been our lot to record, 
has recently smitten the heart of a venerated clergyman, who, by his 
blameless life and years of exemplary ministry, has won the affection- 
ate esteem of the people of this and a neighboring county. We allude 
to the loss by Doctor Ver Mehr, of Sonoma, of four lovely children with- 
in the past week. Four interesting girls, ranging from three to eleven 
years, have been, one after another, swept away by the fell disease diph- 
theria, and now another child is lying dangerously ill of the same. 
But if the father's heart be crushed, what must be the anguished 
grief of the mother? Even for one of her Christian fortitvide, the 
burden seems almost too much to bear. But, while bent to the 
earth by the weight of this terrible affliction, the stern hand of 
worldly adversity is laid heavily upon them. 

' ' We suggest that on this day, dedicated to solemn worship and 
acts of piety, a. collection be taken up in all the churches of this city 
in aid of this afflicted family. No more humane or worthy object ever 
enlisted the sj'^mpathies of our people. Let a subscription be set on 
foot, a committee of citizens appointed to solicit contributions, and 
such substantial assistance forwarded to Doctor Ver Mehr as to relieve, 
at the least, his most pressing wants. Their simple, imostentatious 
virtues have endeared him and his amiable wife to all who know them. 
Let those who revere and love them now unite in tempering this great 
affliction as far as may be." 

What has been done, and the opportunity for 
doing more, was sufficiently indicated in the fol- 
lowing : 

**At a meeting held by the rector, wardens and vestry of Grace 
church, San Francisco, it was 

^^ Resolved, That the following-named persons be a committee to re- 
ceive funds which have been, or may be contributed for the benefit of 
the family of the Rev. Dr. J. L. Ver Mehr, late rector of said church, 
and under whose care it was organized: 

David S. Turner, Capt. E. D. Keyes, 

J. D. Far well, A. C. Peachy, 

Francis J. Lippitt, Mrs. V. G. Fourgeaud, 

Mrs. C. F. Gillespie. 

' ' In pursuance of the above resolution, any of the persons named 
is authorized to receive such sums as may be contributed, and which 
will be retained (should the amount be sufficient) for the purpose of 
purchasing a homestead in this city, whither Dr. Ver Mehr and family 
are about to move from their late establishment, St. Mary's Hall, So- 
noma, which has been broken up by severe family affliction. 



CHRISTIAN LOVE. 403 

" We are gratified in being able to add that collections, amounting 
to nearly nine hundred dollars, were taken up in five churches of this 
city, on Sunday last, for the relief of the afflicted family, now reduced 
to five members. " 

And of these five congregations who, when I 
was yet mourning in Sonoma, so liberally showed 
their Christian sympathy, two were Episcopal, 
two Presbyterian or Congregational, and one 
Unitarian ! 



404 THE CHAPEL OF THE. HOLY INNOCENTS. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS. 

The efforts of our friends were not in vain. 
For in January, 1857, we w^ere enabled to reopen 
St. Mary's Hall in a good-sized house on the cor- 
ner of Geary and Powell streets. Many of our 
old pupils rejoined us there ; many came from the 
city ; many came from far, even from Santa Bar- 
bara. 

Whilst the duties of an institute gave me un- 
ceasing occupation, my wish to preach the gospel 
in a city growing as fast as San Francisco did, 
and where only two churches as yet worshiped 
according to the Episcopal form, made me look 
around. My friends did the same. There was, 
a little above our house, a chapel built for I don't 
know what denomination, but at that time only 
used for a Sunday school. 

It was rented and fitted up for service. I named 
it the "Chapel of the Holy Innocents." And well 
I might ! For the day before I opened it, which 
was on the twenty-second of February, the day 
before that Sunday I performed the last services 
over the mortal remains of our four little angels, 
who had joined the choir of the innocents in 
Heaven ! 

Through the care of Col. Turner a burial-ground 



THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS. 405 

had been secured, and everything being prepared, 
on the afternoon of the twenty-second we all went 
there. I read prayers over the gloomy grave, so 
very large, and where the four coffins were depos- 
ited. It was a fearfully sad duty. It took long 
before the earth was leveled, and the head-stones 
with their household names placed. God, our 
living God, are they not with Thee? 

But the following Sunday I preached on the 
Resurrection in the little chapel. Besides our 
scholars, there was a fair attendance, and I verilv 
believe that many, very many, came to the unpre- 
tending house of worship, who would not have 
gone to the more *' fashionable" churches. Mis- 
sion churches, where every one can come, just to 
pray and hear the gospel, without care, without 
thought of dress and appearance, where the pas- 
tor is ever ready to hear and speak, such simple 
nurseries of real Christianity, are a blessing not 
enouofh realized and sorely nes^lected. 

The following Easterday I shall not easily for- 
get. For, during the morning service, I baptized 
a dear pupil of ours, Miss Nancy Ward, who had 
been a faithful companion of our 'Fanny, and from 
the beofinfiinof watched over her sisters and the last 
one, night and day. Though her parents belonged 
to some denomination, she had been deeply im- 
pressed by our church services, and became a can- 
didate for baptism. On no purer soul I ever poured 
the water of regeneration ! 

The same afternoon she was confirmed in the 



406 THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS. 

chapel by the diocesan, together with my eldest 
son and only remaining daughter. Gertrude, 
and some others. The Rev. Dr. Thrall read 
prayers, for he had succeeded my friend and fel- 
low laborer. Dr. Wyatt, as rector of Trinity 
church. 

That afternoon the bishop expressed his satis- 
faction with our humble but thriving chapel. He 
was about to leave for the convention to be held 
at Sacramento city. At that convention he was 
formally elected bishop of California, and we now 
at last were settled as a ** diocese." 

And my little chapel of the Holy Innocents 
might have been settled too, for its location was 
good, and it began to do its work in the neighbor- 
hood. 

A church is like a seed you plant ; it grows 
slowly at first, then the rootlets begin to extend, 
and drawing their nourishment all around, the lit- 
tle tree soon begins to show. Take up that little 
tree, ever so carefully, you lose many, if not all, 
rootlets ; plant it somewhere else, even in good 
soil, if it don't perish, it will certainly suffer and 
become languid. 

And that was just what we did with our little 
chapel. Some difficulty arose concerning the rent, 
I believe, and my friends thought best to move 
our services to a German church, in Sutter street, 
of which we had the use for a moderate rent. 

Not only we lost the "prestige" of our more 
prominent position in Geary street, with the little 



THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS. 407 

belfry, and the merry church-bell, but we lost also 
many of our congregation who did not like to go 
so far. 

However, during a year and a half, I preached 
and officiated to attentive conoTesfations, the num- 
ber of communicants increasing, and the bishop 
favoring us occasionally with an eloquent sermon. 

But, in the middle of April, 1858, one evening. 
I received a visit from Mr. Badger and another 
gentleman. They wished very much to establish a 
church in the neioiiborhood of Mission street. 
They did not want to have the appearance of in- 
terferino", but thouo^ht I mio^ht assist in the effort. 
Understandinof the *^ drift," I said at once that 
I had, of course, n6 objections to any endeavor of 
the kind, and that probably that locality was more 
desirable than the one my chapel occupied. 

On the twenty-fifth of that month I preached 
my last sermon in the Holy Innocents, and thence- 
forth held services in St. Mary's Hall. In this I 
was, as iii many other things, lacking in " discre- 
tion," that ^ift which seems " innate," and can not 
be acquired ; a gift higher to be prized than gold 
or silver. A gift which teaches us what to do, 
when to do, and how to do. A mistake in one of 
these becomes often fatal. 

What I did was rioiit: hoiv I did it was an- 
. swered by sufficient success to endorse the dioces- 
an's approbation and encouragement; but what 
made me make a grievous error in the ichen, and 
stop at the very moment that the " Holy Innocents" 



408 THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS. " 

were fairly represented in our chapel ? if we 
could sift the secret motives of our actions! how 
many threads of self-love, pride, and ill-humor 
we might find! How seldom would they be the 
results of that pure implicit confidence in Christ, 
which ought to be the sole moving power ! How 
seldom ! 

Wrong it was to give up the "Holy Innocents," 
though the wrongs was varnished by the ever- wily 
seducer ; just as it was wrong to leave my Grace 
church, though that wrong also had the varnish of 
*^ useful necessity;" just as it was wrong to leave 
my St. Mary's curacy, though that wrong also 
was covered by the desire of "greater usefulness." 

the wiles of our arch enemy! As one who 
has suffered from them, and barely escaped with- 
his spiritual life, I write these lines! Whosoever 
thou art who readest them, receive advice from an 
aged minister of Christ. When thou hast, with 
the help of God, marked out thy path, stick to it 
without wavering ; never doubt, never let human 
calculations interfere with thy duty, never hesi- 
tate; but under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, 
hold on to thy purpose. 

Yes, there were human reasons for my giving up 
the pastoral care of what might have become a 
flourishing church. St. Mary's Hall had increased 
in numbers, the Rev. Sheppard had broken up his 
institute and left for the east, many of his pupils 
came to us. The house we rented became inade- 
quate to our necessity. My friends began to look 



THE CHAPEL OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS. 409 

out for a better locality. They found one. The 
French hospital, on Busll street, with the half fifty- 
vara lot was for sale. The price for lot and build- 
ing was very low. The funds collected by the 
large-hearted community in our behalf were nearly 
sufficient. The money necessary for improve- 
ments was offered on morto-aofe at low interest. 

All this preoccupied me much, though my 
friends did all the business for me; the house was 
bought, lifted, almost rebuilt and arranged. And 
tow^ards the end of June, 1858, we removed to our 
new St. Mary's Hall on Bush street. 



410 ST. MARY'S HALL, SAN FRANCLSCO. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

ST. MARY'S BALL, SAN FRANCISCO. 

When, in June, we opened our institute for 
the education of young ladies, it was with the 
prestige of " success " and '^increased accommoda- 
tions." The hall was indeed all that could be de- 
sired in a time when Bush street began to extend. 
A three-story building of eighty by forty feet, 
with large parlors, large school-room, recitation 
rooms, and dormitory, was, in those times, of value 
as well for the accommodations as for the looks. 
And the number of scholars rapidly increased, not- 
withstanding the comparatively distant location. 

For when street cars were yet unknown, the 
distance from Telegraph Hill and Rincon Hill to 
the corner of Bush and Taylor was great. Yet 
from those quarters we had many day-scholars, 
whilst our boarders came from far, and very many 
of our Sonoma daughters rejoined us. . 

There was a-mple work for me, and w^hen I got 
from Europe the identical gigantic maps, I had 
twenty years before, constructed for my West-End 
institute, I felt really " at home " again in my 
work of training and educating, this time Amer- 
ican young ladies, then the scions of Holland's 
nobility. 

Yes, the work was good and useful, and with 



ST. MARY'S HALL, SAN FRANCISCO. 4U 

the very many friends we had, many an evening 
passed pleasantly after a day's labor. Financially, 
our expenses kept par with our income. " Our 
riches did not increase," but there was the satis- 
faction of doing a good work, and the rest I left 
to Providence. I was too much disposed that way. 
I say " too much;" for indeed it seems the duty of 
a married man to use all honorable means of secur- 
ing the future of his family. This does not ex- 
clude reliance on God's '^ special " providence. It 
simply says: '^ Use the means, neglect none." 

And whilst St. Mary's Hall kept me very busy, 
the Sundays very often afforded me occasion to 
preach the gospel. The Church of the Advent, 
under the care of Rev. McAlister, began to grow 
in the southern part of the city. There I officiated 
and preached often. 

Another church had been formed at the Mis- 
sion, St. John's. The Rev. J. Chittenden began 
it. There I officiated and preached often. In 
Grace church, where the Rev. Ewer was rector, I 
officiated and preached often. In Trinity church, 
where the Rev. Thrall was rector, I officiated and 
preached very often. 

These services, added to my regular duties, began 
to impair my already weak constitution. Towards 
the end of 1859 I was prostrated with a severe 
bleeding of the lungs. Those days were sad. 
But, through the will of Providence, I was not 
only spared, but even sufficiently invigorated in 
the spring of 1860 to resume my duties, and when 
asked to do so, to preach the gospel. 



412 ST. MAEY'S HALL, SAN FRANCISCO. 

Yet the attack had left its impression, and the 
climate of San Francisco was deemed inauspicious 
for one of my consumptive tendencies. And, in- 
deed, little did I think that I would live to write 
these memoirs, after fifteen years full of labor and 
trouble, and in the very city which I was strongly 
advised to leave I I had just written the first 
volume of Checkered Life, relating the events of 
thirty-four years in the Old World ; little did I 
think that I would live long enough to relate the 
events of thirty-four years in the New World ! 

It is now forty years since, in the dark hour of 
night, I was called from death to life. For unbe- 
lief is death indeed ; belief is the beginning of life. 
I feel this now, after so long a struggle through 
this *^ transitory " existence. I feel it, that only 
from that moment I began to live for eternity. 

Have I gained in wisdom ? Really not much, I 
think. In knowledge ? Very little, I think. In 
strength of faith ? I dare not say so. For when 
I recall the first years of my ^^new" life, it seems 
there was more energy, more vigor. In what, 
then, have I gained ? Truly, my God, I wish to 
know it, but cannot find it out. 

Yet so many years of trial cannot have passed 
without leaving some marks. One would say so; 
but I cannot find them. No, I cannot find them I 
Thy revelation is the same to me, now, as it was 
forty years ago. I have walked and walked, and 
sometimes strayed, but the narrow road has always 
been found again. The burden I had to carry has 



ST. MARY'S HALL, SAN FRANCISCO. 413 

cluiiof to me: it has not lost its heaviness. In 
fact, my daily sins and shortcomings have added 
to it. 

In what then have I gained, Savior of my 
soul? Thy Spirit whispers softly, and I under- 
stand it ! The very burden, the very increase of 
it, the occasional lifting of it, the consciousness of 
Thy long suffering, it has taught me the lesson of 
humility. And with the sense of my misery, in- 
creases the sense of Thy riches. Thy enduring 
pity, Thy everlasting power I Thus I look at it 
now, and I am glad that I am poor, and have 
literally nothing but Thy favor ! 

But I remember with thankful joy that last 
summer passed in St. Mary's Hall, soon to be de- 
stroyed. My health improved, I could continue 
my lessons, and often officiated in the city 
churches. My sons grew up to give me hope of 
the future. My eldest had finished his college 
studies, and was surveying under the care of Mr. 
S. My second son was studious, and during that 
summer gave proof of ^^ inherited " disposition. 
Though only twelve years old, he undertook some- 
thinof like mv work at thirteen, when I made the 
plan of the city, fortifications and surrounding 
country of Woerden in Old Netherlands. The 
Mechanic's Institute Fair was to be held. He 
conceived the idea of buildinQf a two-storied cot- 
tage, with its parlors, bedrooms, etc., on a scale of 
one inch per foot. He succeeded so well as to de- 
serve the following notice in one of the papers of 
the day : 



414 ST. MARY'S HALL, SAN FRANCISCO. 

1' The son of the Rev. Dr. V — M , Alfred, aged twelve years, 

has completed a two-storied cottage, with an extension, during the 
last two weeks, and last evening he had it lighted up, exhibiting its 
furnished parlors, carved mantel-pieces, easy flight of stairs from the 
hall, and altogether and at once proving the boy a 'born architect,' 
and his cottage a beautiful piece of workmanship." 

He was awarded a diploma, whicli as yet is the 
chief ornament of his room ! 

Yes, I had many reasons for being thankful ! 
Only one sad remembrance remains of St. Mary's 
Hall in Bush street. We had the care of two 
sisters, orphans indeed, both interesting. The 
eldest, Fanny, felt unwell on Saturday, and died 
on Thursday following. Of the man}^ funeral 
services which I have performed, this was not the 
least sad indeed 1 For I loved her, and she de- 
served all our care. 

. ^ And with that funeral, which took place in 
1859, there comes the remembrance of her sister's 
anniversary in the following year. It was the 
eighth of October. We wished to make it a 
pleasant day for the sweet Mary who was left us. 
Many friends came to enjoy the festival. Music 
and dance made us forget that we were in the 
school-room. Little did I think, when taking 
leave of the guests, that we were so near the 
closing day of St. Mary's Hall ! 



FIRE. 415 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

FIRE. 

When, on the following evening, after the 
closing exercises, I sat in the parlor, enjoying rest 
and cheerful company, a rumbling noise drew my 
attention. 

At first we thought it was some carriage pass- 
inof. But as it continued, we rushed out and 
found the noise proceeded from the flames, which 
from the kitchen chimney roared up between the 
walls. 

In those days the fire department, though w^ell 
organized, was far from being as wonderfully effi- 
cient as it is now. There were no electric wires to 
give notice. The water cisterns were very incom- 
plete above Dupont street. And the alarm bell 
sounded only when the flames, breaking through 
the roof, began to spread all over the building. 
Long before the firemen appeared, we had done all 
we could, helped by kind-hearted neighbors, to 
arrest the flames, and when this was found impos- 
sible, hundreds of willinof hands beofan to move 
what could be moved, books, furniture, etc. 

My wife's first care was to rush up to the dor- 
mitories, and to carry oflp the younger pupils, who 
were sound asleep ; kind neighbors took them in. 
Myself, I must have been very much like Doctor 



416 FIRE. 

Peter Smith, when his hospital was in flames. 
What I did I scarcely remember. But good and 
active friends did all for me I Much was saved, 
more broken by over excitement. The heaps of 
saved furniture and books, etc., on the other side 
of the street, then a vacant lot, now a four-storv 
public school building, was a sad sight in the glare 
of the roaring flames. 

The fire engines had arrived, but there was no 
water in the nearest cistern, so before the hose be- 
gan its work, the flames had nearly finished theirs. 
In the house of our neighbor, on the opposite cor- 
ner, we slept that night. 

We slept ! No, not a moment ! The glare of 
the smouldering ashes shining through the win- 
dows, kept me waking, but more so the feeling of 
ruin. It seemed to me that St. Mary's Hall was 
not to be. The angel of death had driven me 
from Sonoma. The demon of fire had now, in a 
few hours, destroyed what it had cost much money 
and time to build ! It seemed as if St. Mary's 
Hall was not to be. And strange enough, six 
years thereafter, the spacious building of General 
Vallejo, w^hich we had occupied, and which contin- 
ued to be known as ^^ the hall," was utterly de- 
stroyed by fire. 

With a little of the " eastern " pluck, I might 

have planned, that very night, a new St. Mary's 

Hall, and beofan to build it, as soon as the ashes 

were cold. I had even a kind ofler to that end. 

But my pluck, if I had any, had given out. My 



FIRE. 417 

weary soul, in an enfeebled body, began to look 
out for rest in the quiet country. And it seemed 
to me, that the many speculations we had made 
during that same year, were justified by this un- 
foreseen event. 

So apt we are to find good reasons for what we 
seem to like best ! 

In the meantime some pupils, whose term had 
just began, had to be provided for ; as well as my 
own family. Kind friends took charge of some; 
with the youngest and those who had no friends 
here, we took rooms in the Mercantile Library. 

And there we were installed on Friday, twelfth 
October. I am ^lad, and almost proud, to say, 
that on the Sunday following, I was enabled to 
preach morning and evening in Trinity church. 
The rector's illness continuing, I performed service 
during the rest of the month. It was, indeed, as 
if God would reconcile me with my loss, and show 
me the way I had to follow. I did not. 

What did my friends do in those days of sudden 
loss and ruin ? They did all for me, and more 
than I could think of! 

If these memoirs are of any use, let them re- 
cord what whole-souled friendship did in the 
growing metropolis of the west. 

They not only helped me in saving and securing 
what was left, but filled a subscription list, nearly 
sufficient to. pay the mortgage off, which had been 
much reduced by the payment of insurance. They 
helped me to secure the house, just vacated by 

27 . 



418 FIRE. 

Mr. Chittenden, and belonging to Hev. Dr. Wyatt, 
and to put it in a condition fit to receive our family 
and the scholars who remained under our care. 

And who were these friends ? I might give 
their names, but how can I do it without their 
permission ? And would they give it, if asked ? 

Only one I shall mention, gone to his rest, and 
whose memory is dear to us. It was George 
Ward, the brother of Frank Ward, under whose 
roof I found hospitality, when coming to San 
Francisco, and who built for me the parsonage. 

Others I shall not mention. Some have left 
the city; some are yet here; some are yet my 
stanch friends. I shall not mention them. But 
when they read these lines, they will know that 
they were traced by a grateful heart. 

And towards the middle of November, feeling 
the need of change and freedom from care, I 
passed a week in Napa valley. The morning I 
left, I baptized two little children, the little ones 
of an old parishioner who clung to me, and 
wanted the same hands to pour the water of bap- 
tism over their little heads, which so often had 
given him the bread of life. 

With this, I left on board the steamer. It 
ouofht to have been a hint, no more to leave the 
early field of my labors. I did not take the hint, 
and my visit to Napa valley became the turning- 
point of that latter part of my ^^ checkered" life I 

Three valleys range from the Pacific coast east- 
ward; the Petaluma valley, the Sonoma valley. 



FIRE. 419 

the Napa valley. Then comes the extensive Sac- 
ramento valley. Each of these valleys, separated 
by a mountain ridge, has its own climate. The 
more remote from the ocean, the warmer. Even 
in the Sonoma valley fogs are frequent. The 
Napa valley has little or nothing of them. There 
the oak tree grows to majestic size; there the vine 
and fiof and oranofe tree are at home. 

At the entrance of the valley is Napa city, now 
a thriving country town, with some twelve churches 
of various denominations. Ten years before I had 
passed it on my return from Vallejo, where I per- 
formed a marriaofe service. Then there were but 
a few houses, but the spot left me the impression 
of a paradise. At the northern extremity is Cal- 
istoga, Avith its springs. In the centre is the pict- 
uresque town of St. Helena. 

Not far from there was the domain of G. Yount, 
a real pioneer of the El Dorado, but who had 
come there long; before the American flagf was 
hoisted. A friend of General Vallejo, who then 
was ^'commandante" in these regions, he had, al- 
most unwillingly, accepted a grant of more than 
twenty square miles, reaching from ridge to ridge, 
in the very centre of the magnificent valley. Al- 
most a princely estate, such as many others pos- 
sessed, but which the old pioneer contrived to 
keep from squatters and other covetous hands. 

There was his humble but comfortable dwell- 
ing, near a rushing streamlet, w^hich gave life and 
vigor to his orchards and vines. There he lived 
with his faithful wife, to whom I had united him 



420 FIRE. 

in the bonds of second marriage, in St. Mary's 
Hall, Sonoma, the very year of our grievous loss. 

And there we had passed many days of our 
summer vacations. For three of his grand- 
daughters had been under our care ever since the 
opening of St. Mary's Hall. I had baptized 
them, as well as his grandson, in the old Grace 
church, and so they were endeared to us by more 
than earthly ties. 

In the home of this good man I spent a few 
days. Our loss was, of course, the subject of 
conversation. They knew my wish for other cli- 
mate than San Francisco. One of the grand- 
daughters was yet under my care. All this led to 
a proposal made by the good patriarch ; he would 
donate me a fine tract of land, near the county 
road, where I might erect a building fit to receive 
a few scholars, plant a vineyard, have my own 
fruit, and contribute to the spiritual welfare of the 
many tenants who occupied his domain. 

With this prospect in my mind, I returned to 
San Francisco, and was cheerfully received by my 
family, once more comfortably settled in their 
new, though smaller, quarters. The regular school 
business was resumed with the remaining scholars ; 
and nearly every Sunday of that year I was en- 
gaged in one of the city churches. 

The Napa proposal was in the meanwhile dis- 
cussed. My wife, as ever, was not inclined to 
move again. Our friends were all in the city ; 
there was my proper sphere of usefulness; why 
risk again a second Sonoma ? Why, indeed ? 



THE "PACIFIC CHURCHMAN." 421 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE ''PACIFIC churchman:' 

One day in February, 1861, I received a visit 
from our friend, Col. Turner. He came on '^ busi- 
ness." "Our church," said he, "thanks to the 
unceasing efforts of the bishop, and the more or 
less effective ministrations of clergy ordained here, 
or come from the East, has at last assumed a ^po- 
sition.' There is a diocese, and that a very large 
one ; even Oregon has its missionary bishop ; the 
Pacific Coast seems to need a ' representative,' a 
paper wherein the scattered sheep of the flock can 
find how matters stand east and west." 

" Such a paper," continued the well-meaning 
Colonel, the old warden of my Grace church, " is a 
necessity. The various denominations have one, 
even the Pomanists ; we alone keep silence." 

"Very well," said I, "my dear friend, but 
where is the publisher ? " 

" At hand," said he, introducing a gentleman, 
who till then had stood a listener. " He is will- 
ing and competent, and even desirous to lend his 
aid, and risk the undertakinof." 

I shook hands with the honest-lookinof son ot 
Gutenberg, and could not help liking him. 

" But then," said I, " where is the editor ?" 

" At hand, again," responded the Colonel smil- 
ing, "can not you take the responsibility ?" 



422 THE "PACIFIC CHURCHMAN." 

The proposal flattered me, I must confess. I^ 
I could not be understood, on account of my 
^' foreign " accent, perhaps I might be clear enough 
in print. There may be some apparent bitterness 
in this remark, but I truly say just what passed 
through my mind that very morning. 

^' I'll try to think the matter over," said I. 

'^ No thinking about it," answered my old war- 
den, '^here is a man, who comes with wife and 
child from Oregon to seek useful employment. He 
is competent and willing. Why think about it ? 
Are vou so very much ensfaofed ?" 

'' No indeed, my dear friend !" said I, " my schol- 
ars' term is out in a few weeks, but then we have 
an idea." 

'^ An idea ?" responded the colonel, almost im- 
patiently. 

^' Yes, an idea. Is not our whole life made up 
of ideas ? Some are carried out, some fail; and 
so life runs on." 

" But what is your idea ?" urged the colonel 
somewhat angrily. But really, I never saw him 
angry. 

However, I explained to him our ^^ rural" pre- 
occupations, the proposal of Mr. Yount, the plan of 
a suitable dwelling for an establishment on a small 
scale; I even showed him the plan as already made 
by a competent architect, and the various bids on 
its construction, from $2000 up to $4000. 

" Well," said he, " not so bad: but it would not 
interfere with the church paper. In the shade of 



THE "PACIFIC CHURCHMAN." 423 

your rural abode, you might write yt)ur editorials. 
Your presence is not absolutely necessary. Wo 
want your pen, your knowledge of the Church's 
necessities." 

And so talking and talking we came to the con- 
clusion, that at any rate we should start the paper. 
My remuneration was not much considered. The 
paper once started, and popular, that question, 
somewhat important to me, would be settled. 

That week I had to go to look about my new 
domain, which had been fenced in, and had to be 
put to some use. Under the hospitable roof of 
my old friend, I wrote the prospectus of the "Pa- 
cific Churchman," for such was the name to be 
given. 

After a few days I returned, and set to work at 
the first issue of the " Churchman," which appeared 
on the fifteenth of March, 1861. More than com- 
mon exertion probably did it, but that week I had 
another hemorrhage which weakened my only 
slowly recovering health. 

However, I resumed the pen and "scissors,'' 
and the following week the second " Church- 
man " appeared. It seemed to please. There 
was an increase of subscribers ; not enough to en- 
courage our well-meaning publisher. Advertise- 
ments, those strong financial supports for any 
paper, were not. so plenty in those days as now. 

After six weeks, the publisher began to see that 
some "capital" is necessary for any enterprise; 
and as he had none, no more than I, and there 



424 THE "PACIFIC CHURCHMAN." 

seemed not ta be enough church spirit to create 
one, he looked somewhat forlorn. 

Whatever was the cause, Dr. Thrall, the rector 
of Trinity church, was never much in favor of the 
paper. On some points our views were different. 
Though professing myself the so-called "high 
church " principles, I always advocated what is 
called " evangelical " tendencies. More so than 
my friend Thrall could approve. He being at 
that time the most influential clergyman in the 
city, Grace church having only a minister in' 
charge, this brought about a spirit of wavering. 

Wavering is losing. The publisher proposed a 
" monthly " issue, which might have been the best. 
But the end of it was, that the church's voice on 
the Pacific was suppressed, and it took ten years 
to try it again. Many have been the able men 
who have given their time to resuscitate what 
had lived but a few weeks. But even now, it 
seems there may be a doubt of its final success. 

Whilst engaged in this work, which to me 
seemed very important, an old friend returned, 
whom last we saw when installed in General Yal- 
lejo's building, at Sonoma. Jas. Ward was the only 
remaining brother of three, who had always shown 
us true-hearted friendship. George, the eldest, had 
ever been our help in need, and when in the month 
of February, a severe attack of illness prostrated 
him, many, very many were the friends who at- 
tended his bed of suffering, but none more so 
than my wife, who was with him to the very last. 



THE «' PACIFIC CHURCHMAN." 425 

I was myself very weak, and when told that 
the ^' closing scene " was approachmg, I made an 
effort, and went ; hoping to give such comfort and 
advice as ministers are supposed to possess. 

I was too late ! My faithful wife sat near the 
dear friend, now asleep to our eyes, but alive for 
a higher, better world ! The struggle had been 
short. With two friends in succession, he settled 
worldly business; then remained with the minis- 
ter's wife, who prayed with him, and heard his 
last words for parents and brothers! For indeed 
he loved them, and if ever kind heart and manly 
honor deserved the grace of God, his certainly 
did. 

We deeply mourned his loss ; for a loss it was ! 
But to see the host of friends, sorrowing as those 
alone can sorrow who feel that they have lost a 
friend indeed ; to see them crowding the church, 
and with rapt attention listening to the eloquent 
Starr Kinof : to see them taking^ their last leave of 
the mortal remains ; it was, indeed, consoling to 
us who loved him so well. 

Well do I remember the morning when his 
brother sat in my study, listening to the details 
which we could give. Well do I remember how 
his heart took in the consoling words of my faith- 
ful wife ; and how, after that, he set to work to 
arrange his deceased brother's affairs. 

Meanwhile he took a deep interest in ours. The 
plan of building in Napa valley seemed to him a 
risk. It would absorb the little which remained 



426 THE ''PACIFIC CHURCHMAN." 

of our property. So by degrees we discarded our 
"ruralizing" projects, and for the time, remained 
in statu quo. The "Pacific Churchman's" fate was 
not yet decided, and when that decision came at 
last, my health was much impaired. A few 
months residence in the country were advised, and 
I passed the summer and autumn under the roof of 
Mr. Yount. 



LA LOMITA. 427 



CHAPTEE XXY. 

LA LOMITA. 

" Wheat does not pay," was the thought when I 
realized '* nothing" out of the fine crop we had 
raised in our neatly-fenced domain. No! it did 
not pay! when the -field was "harvested," that is 
to say mowed, thrashed and sacked, and nothing 
remained but the barren stumps of the graceful 
swaying stalks which often had excited my rural- 
izing admiration; when all this was done, and I 
expected some result, I was coolly told there was 
none. Plowing, sowing, harvesting, had absorbed 
all, and I had not a sack left to send to San Fran- 
cisco as a trophy of my first experiment. 

Who was to blame in this, I do not know; but 
it led me to the conclusion, that our little domain 
was not to be a wheat field but a vinevard. 

Vineyards were productive. Did I not, when in 
Sonoma, realize $300 by the sale of the crops of 
twelve large arbor vines ? Did I not sell my half 
share in the old vineyard behind the mansion, just 
four hundred old, very old, vines, did I not sell 
that half share for $700 ? What then could I not 
do when planting 15,000 such vines on my neatly- 
fenced plot ? 

I foro^ot the run of time; I forsfot that vine- 
yards were multiplying; I began to run out of the 



428 LA LOMITA. 

track. Mine was not a '^business" disposition. 
My diploma as doctor of mathematics and sciences, 
did not extend as far as the balance of profits and 
loss. I multiplied correctly, no doubt, but left out 
the little items of the daily routine of business. I 
might have calculated an eclipse to a second, but 
life's practical doings have more "perturbations" 
than the course of suns and planets ! 

Any how, I thought I could make my fifteen 
acres very productive. Slips I eould have from my 
old friend Yount, and I soon found a man who was 
kind enough to cut down the beautiful oak-trees, 
which shaded my domain, just for the timber! 

With this I came home, and passed the winter 
in San Francisco, preaching in some of the churches^ 
and last in Advent on the second of May, 1862. 
The following Wednesday was Ash- Wednesday. 
I went to Trinity church, and there found my dear 
wife, praying, I was sure, that we might be directed 
according to God's will. For that '^ rural" estab- 
lishment was again a turning point in my checkered 
life ! And I know she felt not safe about it. 

Whatsoever were our prayers during that silent 
afternoon service, the following day I left for "La 
Lomita." That was the name we gave our neatly- 
fenced fifteen acres. 

I left with my youngest son Alfred, then four- 
teen years old, and soon was busily engaged Avith 
him in cutting slips, a monotonous operation, leav- 
ing ample room for silent thought. 

The winter was very wet, plowing belated ; and 



LA LOMITA. 429 

SO it was not before the fifteenth of April that we 
began to plant our first vines. Measuring and 
staking and planting kept us busy from early 
dawn till late at night. This, with a nciile and a 
half walk to and from Mr. Yount's residence, gave 
us plenty exercise, but certainly contributed to a 
full restoration of my health. 

It was Passion week. My daily work did not 
interfere with the thouofhts that week must suof- 
gest. And glad I was, when on Saturday even- 
ing, on my return, I found a note from Mr. Hop- 
kins, the senior warden of Christ church, Napa, 
requesting me to officiate and administer the holy 
sacrament on Easter Sunday. For at that time 
they had no rector, the Rev. Mr. Goodwin having 
accepted a call from Grace church, San Francisco. 
Though very weary, the letter gave me joy, and 
the following morning we were in the stage. 

The beautiful little church at Napa had a pecul- 
iar interest for me. Six years before I had as- 
sisted at the laying of its corner-stone, and there 
uttered some words of thankful exhortation. 
Through the exertions of the faithful Goodwin, 
the congregation had increased ; but since the 
civil war many had left ; yet I found a numerous 
attendance, and distributed the bread of life to^ 
over thirty persons. 

My preaching seemed to have given satisfaction, 
and I was kindly urged to continue my services. 
I consented to do so, when returned from a trip to 
Santa Cruz, where I had promised to be in the 



430 LA LOMITA. 

month of May. For, a few days before, I had 
received a letter from Mr. J. Boston, residing at 
Santa Cruz. He was the brother of two sisters 
with whom I had become acquainted in the first 
years of my parochial ministrations. They were 
very young, and on their arrival in San Francisco 
prostrated Avith fever. The eldest received at my 
hands the last consolations, and found rest in the 
cemetery ; the youngest, after a long illness, sur- 
vived. The members of that family were always 
very dear to us, and when requested to unite the 
only brother in holy wedlock to his bride, I was 
glad to do so, though it interfered with my present 
enofaofements. 

So returning with gladdened hearts to our Lo- 
mita, we set to work again, and in the first days 
of May, having accomplished our purpose, we re- 
turned home. For as yet our ^' home " was where 
the trusty wife and mother resided, surrounded 
by her children and friends. We gave a glowing 
account of our hard but successful labor. The be- 
ginning of a " fruitful " vineyard was started ; 
my health improved ; prospects of useful work in 
the Napa church. It would be necessary to " take 
care " of the place ; also to be near my Sunday 
congregation ; the country air would give me a 
new lease of life ; and thus we concluded for the 
time to build, with our own hands, a little cottasfe 
roomy enough for my Alfred and myself, and to 
give a few weeks' hospitality to the rest of the 
family. 



LA LOMITA. 431 

Thus we planned. Thou knowest it, Lord of 
our destinies ! in the simplicity of our hearts, and 
Thou allowedst it, sure enough, that we might 
learn by experience, though what the experience 
had to profit me, I have been slow to learn. For 
surely it was hazardous, thus as it were to sever 
my connection with so many friends ; to narrow 
my influence as a man of learning and a minister 
of Thy word, and to devote a large portion of my 
time to manual labor and temporal care. It was 
hazardous to place my chief interest, and the fu- 
ture support of my faithful wife, in fifteen acres of 
land. And I well remember the words of a Jew- 
ish rabbi, whom I highly esteemed, and with 
whom I passed many a pleasant hour. A few 
years thereafter I met him in the street. 

^'I wonder," said he, ^^that a man of your tal- 
ents should thus bury himself" 

I remember the words and the impression they 
left me. Though not believing in Thee, who to me 
art Truth, Thou allowedst him, Source of Truth, 
to speak the truth. 

But then, with restored health, and the vao^ue 
plans in my mind, I started for Santa Cruz. The 
steamer to San Jose was pleasant enough ; but the 
stage route over the steep hills and mountains I 
shall not easily forget ! It was picturesque, cer- 
tainly, but very trying, and many a mile I walked 
rather than expose myself to a tumble down. 
However, we arrived safely, and the hopeful 
bridegroom made me soon forget my nervous 
troubles. 



432 LA LOMITA. 

I arrived on Friday. Mr. Boston and his family 
being faithful adherents to our church, wished 
very much that I should officiate on the following 
Sunday. Of course, I had no objection, and the 
arrangements were soon made to hold service with 
communion in the court-house. 

There was a large congregation, and a goodly 
number of communicants. It was the first church 
service ever held in Santa Cruz, and little did I 
think that in a few years, through the exertions 
chiefly of my friend, a flourishing church should 
be built where then I officiated in the court-house. 
The afternoon service w^as equally well attended, 
and I remember that day as one of the most use- 
ful in my life. 

A few days I passed under the roof of my hos- 
pitable friend, and on the fifteenth I performed 
the marriage service in the Presbyterian church, 
kindly offered by its minister. An hour there- 
after we were on our way; the married couple on 
their wedding trip; myself for "home, sweet 
home." For such it was, notwithstanding plans 
and coming changes. A few days of rest and 
planning and preparations, and we were on our 
road to Napa valley. 



HOUSE BUILDING. 433 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

HOUSE BUILDING. 

The first day of June we arrived on our little 
property. We stretched our tent, built our camp- 
fire, and, whilst the pot was boiling, we looked 
around, where best to locate our future dwelling. 

A small creek ran in the rear, and twisting 
round, made by its bubbling noise quite a pictur- 
esque locality. It gave us pure and ample water, 
as Ion Of at least as it did last, for in two months 
we found it dry. But that we did not know. 
Some stately oaks near by gave shade. So water 
and shade decided our choice, and w^e measured 
out the oblong square, where the foundation-posts 
of our dwelling had to come. 

Whilst digging the holes and settling the sup- 
ports of our future abode, the lumber came from 
Napa. It was not ^'seasoned." But of that im- 
portant fact I was not aware. I saw it later, and 
then only began to appreciate the value of ^' sea- 
soned" lumber. The ground-floor was soon laid. 
Then the corner sideboards were nailed on ; for our 
house had to be a so-called '* balloon" structure. 

The name is good. The whole consists of boards. 
But, instead of air or gas, stiffening up the sides, 
it is the boards themselves, which, aided by bat- 
tens and cross-beams, make the outer wall. My 

28 



434 HOUSE BUILDING. 

son, who was the master builder, now building a 
real cottage, was speculating on the height we had 
to give our ^'parlor" ceiling. A very important 
point. For our side boards being only twelve feet 
long, our garret space depended somewhat on our 
*^ parlor" aspirations. 

^' Twelve feet is the least," I said, with more au- 
thority than became an " assistant" carpenter. 

^'But that leaves no side wall for the ofarret," said 
my young " boss." 

^' What of that?" I replied. ^^Who cares for 
the garret ? Have we not room enough below ? 
A parlor, sixteen feet square, and two bedrooms, 
eight by ten; one for you, and one for me ? 

^' Yes," said my young ^^ boss," ^' but suppose the 
family comes ? we will have to be up stairs." 

" Well, then take two feet off; less than ten feet 
the parlor ought not to be." 

Alfred mused. He wanted to get more for his 
future retreat. Meantime what I lost in heiofht 
of parlor, I gained in paternal admiration of theboy's 
practical foresight. I could not be jealous of his 
superiority in that respect ! 

'^ Who is coming, there!" I exclaimed, seeing 
through the boards, put up at intervals, a gentle- 
man approaching with a carpet bag; ^' sure, he can- 
not suppose this to be an inn on the roadside !" 

" Don't think so !" said Alfred sarcastically. 
" But don't you see, father," he added, jumping up 
with some alacrity, ^'it is Mr. James." 

And so it was. He came to see how we got 



HOUSE BUILDING. 435 

along, to breathe the country air, to give a lift if 
there was occasion for it. The '^ boss" applied to 
him at once, in the matter of the parlor ceiling. 
Alfred was practical and did not want to lose a 
minute. We had a month's time, and then the 
family might come. He wanted eight feet for the 
parlor, I would not allow less than ten. But I 
left the decision to our friend, who after some 
consideration *' split the difference," and advised 
nine feet, leaving three for the garret. 

*^ Yet," he added, with a serious mien, " one foot 
would make a great difference in the garret." 

I did not mind his last ^^ innuendo," and nine 
feet it was made. But afterwards I often reo^ret- 
ted it. One foot more or less in a garret side 
wall makes a great difference. 

So the cross-planks* were nailed, and the ceiling 
beams laid. We sawed and hammered with a will, 
materially aided by our second assistant. For he 
was so kind as to stay several days with us, par- 
takinof of our humble fare, and at niofht walkinof 
to the nearest inn : our tent being only large 
enouQfh to hold two of us. He staid until side 
boards and upper floor were finished, and having 
been the first to sleep in our new house, departed, 
wishing us God speed. 

In the meantime, every Sunday we went by 
stage to Napa, and there I officiated and preached 
the word of God. These services rendered my 
transition to rural life somewhat easier. Though 
working with hammer and spade, and thus be- 



436 HOUSE BUILDING. 

coming accustomed to the hard and arduous life 
I had to lead for many years, the day of rest re- 
mained holy, and devoted to my spiritual aspira- 
tions. 

One Sunday night, on my return, I found a 
letter announcing the intended visit of my dear 
wife and daughter, with some friends, only for a 
few weeks. I was happy, but in a postscript 
mention was made of a veranda, to keep off the 
"hot sun." 

" Ah ! " exclaimed my young ^ boss,' "just what 
I expected ! And indeed, father, the sun is very 
hot in the afternoon." 

So the necessary lumber for the veranda was 
ordered, and we set to work. I remember this so 
well, because I got a lesson from my young "car- 
penter." 

The veranda had, of course, to rest on posts. I 
wanted making quick work of it, and, seeing my 
son reflecting longer than I thought necessary, I 
began to put up pieces of planks, blocks, etc., as 
the " all-sufficient " supports of those posts. 

" That will do," said I, somewhat annoyed by 
his delay, " that will do, the weight of the roofing 
will keep them in place." 

Young " boss " said nothing. I impatiently 
turned off to do something else, or perhaps to 
hide my impatience. I don't remember; but when 
later in the afternoon I returned, I found the 
posts resting on solid blocks, safely nestled in the 
deep soil. 



HOUSE BUILDING. 437 

I don't know whether I made amends. But 
after eleven years the posts remained steady, and 
reminded me of my son's quiet perseverance, in 
contrast with my fretful impatience. 

The last of June arrived, and Avith it my family, 
bent upon having a real country holiday of six 
weeks. Not even the shino-les w^ere on the roof, 
but no matter of that in a country, where no drop 
of rain comes down for at least six months of the 
year. It was a real festival ; cooking was done 
outside, and the attic was spread with hospitable 
mattresses. At evening we sat in the parlor, read- 
ing or telling stories, and in the early morning we 
roamed over the hills, and culled the exquisite 
wild flowers wherewith they abound in the first 
summer month. My guests admired the vineyard, 
which now beo^an to show its first leaves, and 
though many were lacking, the rows were straight 
and green. An encouragement for the incipient 
vinegrower. 

The six weeks were soon at an end, and I was 
left alone with my faithful Alfred. That summer 
we were hard at work removino: trees, and makinof 
room for more vines : and in the beo^inninof of Oc- 
tober Mr. James paid us a visit, hunting hares 
and squirrels, which, at that time, Avere very 
abundant in my domain ! 

One evening we sat quietly on the veranda, 
when a messenger brought a telegram to my 
friend, requesting his immediate presence in the 
city. We supposed it was. on business, and little 



438 HOUSE BUILDING. 

thought of the grief which was to come, and when 
the following morning he left, it was with the 
promise of soon repeating his visit. I never saw 
him since ! For the message was in consequence 
of the sudden death of his dear mother, a loss 
which he felt with deep agony, and wherein we all 
took part ; for though we never saw her, so inti- 
mate had been our relation with her sons, that she 
manifested a motherly affection for my wife. 

Our friend left to console his bereaved father, 
and though our intercourse by letters has never 
ceased, yet we missed him, as those only can miss 
a friend whose lot is cast in a far-off country, 
where, with increasing population, the friends of 
"olden times" gradually disappear. ' 

During all that time I continued faithfully my 
services in the church at Napa. I once alluded to 
the matter of some salary, but in vain. Yet I 
was glad to preach, and remember the day with 
joy, w^hen I received, as it w^ere, a token of God's 
approval of my zeal. 

One of the ladies of the congregation, Mrs. 
Turner, presented me, in the name of several 
members, with a purse of seventy-five dollars. At 
the proposition of the superintendent, the scholars 
of Trinity Sunday-school appropriated their con- 
tributions to my use. It was about the same 
amount ; whilst a member of the same church 
sent me a very handsome Christmas present. 
With these funds I saw my way clear. I needed 
a chimney, I needed some improvements in my 



HOUSE BUILDING. 439 

^' mansion," a kitchen, a stove, etc. And with a 
light heart we began to build again. 

And so the Christmas time of that year has 
always remained a joyful remembrance ; the more 
so when it brousfht back to us an old friend, a dear 
friend, a brother in the early days of my pastoral 
work in San Francisco, the Kev. Dr. Wyatt. 

That was joy indeed w^hen we could talk over 
times past ; when I could assist him in the chan- 
cel, where I preached sometimes for him ; when 
he took his abode with my family, for a few 
months, whilst his dwelling was put in order; 
when we celebrated our anniversaries, succeeding 
each other with two davs interval ! 

Truly, we are but too apt to forget the days of 
bliss and happiness, and to dwell upon the days of 
gloom and sorrow. We forget the sunshine, and 
allow too often the cloudy mists of disappointment 
to cover the whole of the past ! 



440 SETTLED IN THE COUNTRY. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

SETTLED IN THE COUNTRY. 

The spring of 1863 was a busy time. My 
faithful helper in the "rural" business accompa- 
nied me, and we worked hard ; he plowing and 
harrowing the vineyard, I planning and measuring 
an extension, and preparing the necessary slips. 

When the new vines were in the ground, he 
began to prepare the remaining acres for planting 
corn. We expected to realize a nice amount ! 
Nothing like " expectation " to keep people alive. 

When all was ready, we returned to the city, 
leaving our domain to the care of Providence. 
An event we were expecting called us. And this 
time our "expectation" was not in vain! For 
towards the end of May we kept the anniversary 
of my beloved wife, and the day thereafter a 
daughter was born, who, as it were, took the place 
of the four angels gone to paradise. 

And when in August my family paid a second 
visit to La Lomita, there was indeed "an angel in 
the house." A joy most intensely felt by those 
who have seen four angels leave at once the house 
of parents, to dwell forever in the house of 
Heaven! Thus God restored to us the joy of 
childhood's innocence. 

When they had left us, we began to look out 



SETTLED IN THE COUNTRY. 441 

for our rural crop. But alas ! in this we were 
sadly disappointed. After all the labor of culHng 
and husking and sacking and transporting, we 
found our profits less than sixteen dollars. It was 
better than the wheat, which left us nothing. 
But it was very little, and strengthened our pur- 
pose to clear the ground entirely for a vineyard. 

In the meantime my relation with the Napa 
church had come to an end. The most influential 
members had left, partly owing to the civil war ; 
the congregation had dwindled to very little, and 
I did not feel under obligation to continue my 
efforts. So, then, having arranged my '' harvest," 
we went to the city, where I officiated when oc- 
casion offered, and once paid a visit to the State 
prison at San Quentin. 

I was invited to preach for them. Six hun- 
dred were there assembled, old and young, of all 
nations. I addressed them first in English; and 
some of the old men I saw in tears. This en- 
couraged me to address them in Spanish, as I saw 
many there who belonged to that nationality. 
God knows if my words did any good. But I 
could not help wishing that my Lomita were in 
their neighborhood ; how gladly I would have 
brought to them the words of eternal life ! In- 
deed, if anywhere, it is in those abodes of erring 
sin that the Word of God ought to be heard more 
frequently. 

If that year had brought us the blessing of a 
daughter, it seemed to take one from us. For, 



442 SETTLED IN THE COUNTRY. 

during that year, a young and promising lawyer, 
the son of General Seawell, of the United States 
army, had wooed and w^on the heart of our daugh- 
ter Gertrude. The wedding day was on the 
twelfth of November, and in Trinity church they 
were united by our friend, Rev. Dr. Wyatt. It 
was a day of joy; for if we seemed to lose a 
daughter, we gave her in care of one who was 
indeed a ^^ gentleman and a scholar." 

That and the following month I preached in 
several churches, and was busily engaged with lit- 
erary work; but the rural domain required my 
presence, and now came what long had been in 
our mind, the final resolution to remove to La 
Lomita. 

Should the property increase in value, and give 
a reasonable support in time to come, there was a 
fair prospect of settling for the rest of my life in 
quiet and peace, devoting my time to such labor in 
the Lord's vineyard as circumstances might bring 
about. General Lippitt, with his little daughter, 
was to stay wdth us, a material help in expenses, 
and we had the prospect of one or more pupils. 

It was altogether rash, I cannot say otherwise. 
It more or less broke my city relations, it en- 
croached upon my clerical position ; it was, in fact, 
the consequence of a mind weary, and without 
definite sphere of action, seeking a resting-point, 
where it was my duty to seek or to create labor. 

So, then, my trusty "carpenter" set to work 
again to make such improvements in our humble 



SETTLED IN THE COUNTRY. 443 

dwelling as might add to the comfort of our en- 
larged family. Whilst he was busy with hammer 
and saw, I did the papering ; for until now the 
rough boards had been sufficient to keep out wind 
and dust. We worked hard, and in the month of 
February, 1864, were ready to receive our family 
and General Lippitt, with his little daughter. 

Horses for the work, and cows for the milk and 
butter, a wagon and a second-hand rockaway, 
were necessary expenses for our future country 
life. This, with the continual outlay for improve- 
ments, soon absorbed our little means left from the 
burning ashes of St. Mary's Hall, and our fifteen 
acres with two years old vines, w^ere now all we 
had to look for in the future ? 

But then, next year, our vines would be three 
years old, they would bear a crop ; and our orchard 
would give ample supply of peaches, pears, and 
apples ! Truly, the bliss of ignorance is some 
times great. Expectation, though followed by mo- 
mentary disappointment, has its hours and days of 
real joy. And is not our w^hole life a continued 
expectation ! Three times happy those who will 
not be disappointed when " reality" takes the place 
of transitory life ? 

I just mentioned our orchard. Yes, that spring 
I planted one, a gift from my reverend brother 
Dr. Wyatt, who paid us a visit not only, but even 
with his family passed a month in our neighbor- 
hood. All this, with our frequent intercourse with 
the patriarch Yount and his kindly wife, as well 



444: SETTLED IN THE COUNTRY. 

as other neighbors, and the joy of trundling my 
little baby through the ups and downs of La Lomi- 
ta, made that first year of our regular country resi- 
dence pleasant; my health was vastly improved; 
I could attend to haying and pruning; on horse- 
back, I felt young again; and truly it seemed as if 
'^ a new lease of life was given me," as a colored 
neighbor said once with kind sympathy, little 
thinking, that within a year his own stout and 
healthy frame would rest in death ! 

Too apt are Ave, in our memories, to dwell upon 
the days, or even hours of disappointment, forget- 
ting the many, very many days of sunshine ! An 
aged friend of mine, not long ago, reminded me of 
this; and but too well I felt the truth of her obser- 
vation. May some of my readers take the hint, 
and try to count the days of real happiness ; their 
sunshine will go far to lessen the gloom of sorrow; 
nay, they will be moved to thankfulness, that, with 
all their mistakes, errors, and shortcomings, a kind 
Providence has mixed so much sweetness to the 
bitter dregs of sin ! 



AN OLD PATRIARCH GONE. 445 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AN OLD PATRIARCH GONE. 

Thus 1864 passed, and left a pleasing remem- 
brance, with some exceptions. For we lost a friend 
in General Lippitt whom business called to the 
East. Since our arrival in California, he had been a 
warm and trusty friend to us, whose assistance in 
matters of business was valuable, and. whose genial 
society was indeed a rare treat, when as yet, 
there was a scarcity of talent, other than of the 
"money making" tendency. To lose him was to 
lose much, and to lose his only daughter Carrie, 
endeared to us as one of our own, made a gap in 
our country life, which was intensely felt. 

Then we lost our " carpenter," our trusty Alfred, 
who had handled hammer, and saw, and plow, 
with persevering industry. With more than or- 
dinary gifts, friends who knew him and took an 
interest in us, judged it time for him to enter busi- 
ness life. So he left us for the busy city; but his 
loss was keenly felt ! For it would be difficult to 
say, what as a boy of fourteen and fifteen he had 
not done for us. Yea, even to the very last day 
which he passed under the roof which his own 
hands built, he was hard at work finishing before 
his departure a roomy barn. 

The lumber he hauled, all alone, from the " mount- 



446 AN OLD PATRIARCH GONE. 

ain ranch," 2000 feet high, and very difficult of 
access, a distance of more than twelve miles. Day 
after day he built, all alone, until it was ready for 
horses, wagon and hay. And this last he hauled, 
until the barn was filled. Then he left with my 
blessing. 

I mention this with a feeling of gratitude. For 
thus it pleased God to reward me for the care I 
had bestowed upon my unfortunate, aged, and dis- 
abled father. ^^ A parent-nursing son" I had been 
called; *^ a parent-nursing son" had been given me. 
Truly, the ways of Providence are clear enough to 
those who in simplicity acknowledge them I ^' Give, 
and it shall be given unto you," is a commandment 
wdth a promise, which at my advanced age I have 
never seen failing. *^ Honor thy father and thy 
mother, that thy days may be long in the land 
which the Lord thy God giveth thee," is a com- 
mandment and a promise, all important, alike 
for parents and children. For where the parents 
are "honorable," the children will "honor", and 
have their reward. 

The Christmas days of that year we passed un- 
der the roof of our friend, the patriarch Yount. 
Little did we think it would be his last Christmas 
days on earth ! For though he had long passed the 
" allotted" time of threescore and ten, yet he was 
hale and hearty. Often he rode on horseback to pay 
us a friendly visit. Often he went to Napa to at- 
tend the Masonic lodge, for he was a grand master, 
and an enthusiastic member of the craft. How 



AN OLD PATRIARCH GONE. 447 

many evenings I had passed with him, reading to 
him the " war news !" For althousfh he was a na- 
tive of Virginia, he was a stanch adherent of the 
Union cause. How many Sunda^^s I had seen him 
quietly sitting on the shady veranda of his house, 
reading the Holy Scriptures ! His daughter I had 
baptized on her dying bed, all his grand-children 
I had baptized, and five of them had been my pu- 
pils in St. Mary's hall. Himself I had united in 
holy matrimony to a worthy lady from the East, 
whose faithful care did much to cheer his latter 
days. How many were the links between the 
venerable patriarch and ourselves! 

His last ride on horseback was to our house, 
whence he went to take a bath in a mineral spring, 
not far off. This proved fatal to his already wav- 
erins: constitution. Fevers came, and notwith- 
standing the care and skill of the physicians, in the 
first days of October, 1865, hope was given up. 

This was a trying time for his wife, as well as 
for ourselves. For we loved him indeed, and it 
seemed as if with him so many, very many, remem- 
brances would be lost. 

On Thursday the fifth, he breathed his last. The 
daughter of his only son, who died young, was 
there. His wife was there. Mine was there. 
The frame of the sturdy hunter, who had faced 
death and danger so often, w^ho had endeared him- 
self to Mexican, Indian, and American, who had 
rendered service to many, injured never any one, 
it lay stark and cold, surrounded by many, many 
friends. 



448 AN OLD PATRIARCH GONE. 

The Sunday following was appointed for the fun- 
eral. Numerous was the attendance. And strange 
w^ere the feelings which came over me, when stand- 
ing before the open coffin in the parlor, where so 
very often I had sat with him, before the cheering 
fire-place, listening to his narratives of olden times, 
or reading to him the war news, and oftener still, 
some chapter of the Bible. 

With these feelings I performed the funeral 
service, and spoke some words which but faintly 
echoed what passed in my inmost heart. 

About two miles from the house lies the pict- 
uresque town of Yountville; near it, on a sloping 
knoll, the cemetery. Thither the long procession 
went its way, escorted by the Masonic fraternity, 
who at the grave performed their usual impressive 
ceremonies. 

There the old patriarch rests in peace, and near 
him the daughter whom I assisted in her last 
moments. There a simple monument, of which I 
made the design, shows the spot where the power- 
ful hunter and the peaceful land-owner awaits the 
blessed resurrection. 



CLOGGING THE WHEEL. 449 



CHAPTEK XXIX. 

CLOGGING THE WHEEL. 

That year's vintage, so anxiously expected, fell 
short by a good deal of what Ave thought to 
realize. " They were three years old," we said, 
*'they ought to have given more." I forgot the 
quaint saying of a Spanish lady of our acquain- 
tance, who to my earnest question, whilst putting 
in my slips : " They bear the third year, not so?" 
answered with a smile : '^ Si, iin poco por dar con- 
suelo a lospohres que plantan !^^ 

However, we disposed of the few hundred 
pounds we gathered, and I believe we had them 
made into a few gallons of wine. Our own wine! 
At least we thought so ; ignorance is bliss ; for 
they were probably mixed with others, as no wine 
maker puts less than a ton of grapes in his tank. 

Then we reasoned, that the more vines the more 
grapes. So we took courage and planted more in 
the following spring. Besides that, I began to 
*' improve " the surroundings of our dwelling. 
Ornamental plants, evergreens and roses, with 
graveled walks, certainly improved the general 
appearance. Perhaps I worked too hard; for in 
midsummer I was laid up with fever. 

To my hard labor I added constant literary 
work. Translations, articles for some monthly; 

29 



450 CLOGGING THE WHEEL. 

yea, two or three volumes of *^ light reading," 
which went East, but never came West in printed 
form ! 

For our circumstances became narrowed. Life 
in the country is certainly cheaper than in the 
city. We had no house rent to pay; our cows 
gave milk and butter, chickens plenty of eggs; 
clothing did not amount to much, vegetables grew 
without expense ; yet there were some things 
which had to be paid for ; not least among them 
the hire of men and the wages of servants. And 
although we often and long dispensed with these, 
the vineyard required labor which I could not 
perform alone. Thus by degrees the debit side 
increased, and I looked with anxiety to the com- 
inof vintaQ^e. 

It came in. time, and certainly was a little bet- 
ter than the last one. What to do with it ? From 
wine-makers there was as yet no demand ; with 
marketing I was not acquainted ; so I concluded 
to make an experiment. 

Following the hints of a little book just sent 
to me, I made my own press, fetched my lever 
from the hills, constructed my crusher, and began 
to work. 

Of course I needed barrels ; I got some, but soon 
perceived that I did not need very many. Those 
baskets with luscious grapes dwindle so soon away 
under the crushing process ! About one hundred 
and fifty gallons of wine were the result of my 
endeavors. 



CLOGGING THE WHEEL. 451 

Havinof no cellar, I left tliem under the shade 
of some oak trees not far from the house. The 
result was that when some time thereafter I 
wanted to draw them off, I found two barrels 
empty, and the third one half-way gone. Yet the 
two empty barrels, and the one left half full, had 
their use in my *' checkered " training I " 

I had learned how to make wine, a wholesome 
beverage, if used with moderation. 

I had learned a lesson of prudence, and not to 
have too high an opinion of human honesty in 
general, and of my surroundings in particular. 

I had learned a lesson of gratitude, even to those 
exceptions of human honesty ; for they left me 
enough wherewith to entertain an occasional guest. 

And one we had, whom dearly we loved, and 
who was the first to give me the proud title of 
"grandfather." Our sweet Gertrude came to see 
us, with her little Harry, born that year. Sweet 
and pleasant is the remembrance of those days, 
when present care was, for a time at least, for- 
gotten in loving affection, and " expectation" 
drowned the anxious forebodings of coming trouble. 

For trouble there was at hand. Thousfh not 
very "practical," I could not but see that expense 
ran ahead of income, and when the month of De- 
cember came, it was with a heavy heart that I 
went to the city to keep a festival which is not of 
frequent occurrence. 

Twenty-five years had passed since Adelaide 
had placed her hand in mine, and we had prom- 



452 CLOGGING THE WHEEL. 

ised to each other love and faithfulness, ^'in sick- 
ness or in health, richer or poorer." Twenty-five 
years of a life full of changes, blessings and sor- 
rows ; twenty-five years since the blooming maiden 
said : ^'Dieu le veut,je le veux;" twenty-five years in 
the native country, on the Atlantic coast, and on 
the Pacific shores; twenty-five years of more or 
less enthusiastic struggle on my part, of faithful 
endearing love on hers I 

At the house of our Gertrude, the first Ameri- 
can born of our children, the mother of a grand- 
son, we were to hold our family reunion. It was 
quiet and simple, and the venerable father of him 
to whom we confided our treasure, was the only 
guest. But our hearts were thankful, and I re- 
member that day as one who would like to see its 
"duplicate" in a "golden" wedding! 

Yet there was an undercurrent of anxious care 
in my mind. Hemembering the joy, I always re- 
member that care. For the day thereafter I suc- 
ceeded in what I then considered a happy issue; 
but which in the end proved to be just what my 
sharp-seeing "carpenter" foretold, the Jlrst clog in 
the ivheel. 

On that day I succeeded in getting from Mr. 
Brennan a sum of seven hundred dollars on a 
mortgage on La Lomita, interest compounded at 
one and a half per cent, monthly. This seemed to 
me a small amount. The vintaofe would increase. 
But with this increase the expenses continued. 
Two years ran swiftly by. Then, not only capital 
with compound interest were due, but even more 



CLOGGING THE WHEEL. 453 

was needed, and the mortgage increased to fifteen 
hundred dollars, which, in two years more, passed 
in blissful hope, compounding and compounding, 
made a mortgage of twenty-two hundred dollars. 
A heavy clog, indeed ! 

Why do I mention this? Why do I soil, as it 
were, these pages of simple record, with numbers 
and debts and usury? Just because it is a simple 
record. Yes, simple it is. Thou knowest it. Au- 
thor of my life, under whose care and guidance I 
know to have been from the time I was born, and 
more especially from the time I listened to Thy 
voice ; still more so from the time I was ordained 
a dispenser of Thy Word and Sacrament. Thou 
knowest it, in writing thus simply the story of my 
^* checkered" life, I am willing to bear the blame ot 
my fellow -beings, if only some of them may profit. 

For not in the earthly vineyard I had to Avork, 
but in the church of God, which is His spiritual 
vineyard. There I had to plant and prune and 
graft ; there I had to look for a blessed harvest. 
To Thee I ought to have' left the care for my 
trusty wife and child, and Thou most certainly 
wouldst have cared for her. 

Thus I look at it, now that years of disappoint- 
ment, anxious care and fruitless expectations have 
taught me the lesson. Yet, in those years, Thy 
Spirit did not leave me alone. In my solitude 
Thou visitedst me. In my daily toil Thou calledst 
me. And even Thou gavest me occasion to do 
some work, in an humble way ; yet, work it was, 
which may have sown some seed for eternity. 



454 COUNTRY PREACHING. 



CHAPTEE XXX. 

CO UNTB Y PRE A CHING. 

Nothing is more difficult than to excite religious 
interest in a wide-spread community of farmers, 
especially in a newly settled country. Their daily 
toil is incessant, their financial cares perplexing, 
their families generally large, and, I am sorry to 
say, their tastes far beyond the sphere of rural 
simplicity. 

In fact, rural simplicity does not exist in 
the new States and Territories of the New World. 
Fashion and high notions, some way or other, 
take hold of those who, ^' lords of all they sur- 
vey," ought to be most independent of the tram- 
mels of artificial society. 

Then again, most have come from far, many 
have never enjoyed the blessing of domestic re- 
ligion, and settling in a new county, often move 
again, and try here and there to better their cir- 
cumstances. Their children grow up in positive 
religious ignorance. An occasional attendance at 
some ^' meeting-house," or at some noisy " camp- 
meeting," and there it rests. Now and then you 
find an elderly matron or a gray-haired farmer 
who yet enjoy the old family bible, and seem to 
realize a certain "responsibility." But these 
cases are rare, very rare. 



COUNTRY PREACHING. 455 

Thus it has always been. Christianity was first 
preached in the larger cities, thence spread 
around, and but slowly took hold of the country 
people. Hence, the " heathen " called Gentiles in 
the Scriptures, were called ^' Pagans " after 
Christianity began to spread ; that means " vil- 
lagers." 

It seems strange. It would seem that those who 
so entirely depend upon rain and sunshine, who so 
daily enjoy the fruit of their labor, aided by the 
care of Providence, who see so little of positive 
sin and wickedness, and comparatively so little of 
wretched poverty and criminal attempts to get 
the wealth of others ; it would seem that they 
were the readiest to receive and enjoy the Gospel 
of Love and Truth. 

Yet they are not. The monotonous routine of 
their daily life, the absence of striking sin and 
evil, creates an indifference, and I would almost 
say, a selfish indifference which actually and lit- 
erally effaces the need of salvation and the aspi- 
rations to a hiofher future. 

And therefore I verily believe that God allows 
the unceasing efforts of the Evil One, that we 
should *' fight the good fight," and learn to con- 
quer. For where there is no fight, there is no 
victory, there is no real peace ; but only an ap- 
pearance of rest, ending with the sleep of spiritual 
death. 

Though often asked to perform a burial service 
at St. Helena and other surrounding places, only 



456 COUNTRY PREACHING. 

once I was asked to baptize an infant, and that 
was the great-grandchild of the "patriarch," 
whose grandson I had baptized many years before. 

If people seemed indifferent to "religious" 
teaching, they were fully awake to "secular " 
teachinof. A handsome school had been erected 
at Oakville, and promised to be the nursery of 
many bright and intelligent boys and girls. 

In midsummer, an "agent" made his appear- 
ance. There are many such in the country. 
"Agents " for sewing machines, for threshing ma- 
chines, for distilling machines, for patent medi- 
cines, for newspapers, and so on, without end. 

You see a man approaching with a valise ; you 
look at the gate ; there is his buggy ; you are 
"prepared" to receive him. He makes himself at 
home ; takes a chair, if none is offered, and open- 
ing his valise, begins to explain. You feel uneasy; 
you know it is all for nothing ; you don't want 
anything. But the man goes on, and when con- 
vinced that nothing is to be done, asks a glass 
of water. If nothing better is at hand, you give 
it him whilst thinking of the "promise;" and 
with a relieved mind you wish him "good-by." 

But the one w^ho came in midsummer was an 
exception. He had a valise ; but he never opened 
it. He quietly sat down on the chair I offered 
him, and began with a good-natured air of some 
importance : 

" Doctor, I am an agent of the Sunday-school 
Association. Our aim is to establish Sunday- 



COUNTRY PREACHING. 457 

schools ; they are the nurseries of the Church ; 
they are much needed in the country." 

Here he paused. Though not quite agreeing 
with him, since, in my humble opinion, the Church 
ought to be the nursery of the so-called Sunday- 
school, I did not think it necessary to gainsay him, 
and merely bowed my assent. 

"I have seen some of the neio^hborinof families," 
he continued, " and they seem inclined to estab- 
lish one in their new school-house. Only, they 
need some one to ^superintend,' and thought you 
might be willing to do so." 

For once, and I may add for only once, an 
^^ agent" was welcome to me. He was the only 
exception, indeed. 

" I fully agree with you," I said, with pastoral 
dignity, "that spiritual instruction is needed at 
least as much as secular. I am glad that an occa- 
sion is offered to do something in the Lord's vine- 
yard, and, accepting the position, I promise to do 
all in my power to further the interests of the 
gospel." 

The friendly agent left, and next Sunday was 
appointed for the organization and opening of the 
Oakville Sunday-school. 

It was a briofht summer morninof, as all tho 
summer mornings are in Napa valley, when the 
grounds around the school-house were crowded 
with men, women and children in Sunday attire, 
whilst buDfmes and horses stood under the trees. 
The school-room was soon filled^ and when the 



458 COUNTRY PREACHING. 

'^doctor" came, he found a mixture of order and 
disorder. It was a pleasant sight to see so many, 
old and young, coming together for something 
else than grammar and arithmetic ! 

The candidates for the Sunday-school were 
soon catalogued and classified ; some forty in all. 
Among them a half dozen who were approaching 
manhood. They had the privilege of the '^doc- 
tor's " instruction. For the other classes I found 
ready teachers, more or less well qualified, but all 
desirous of doing their best. But of these forty 
scholars I found only three who had received bap- 
tism. This was a startling fact, and showed at 
once the *' Christian status " of my congregation. 
For among the teachers I found none baptized, 
nor were all the parents conscious of ever having 
been " sprinkled " or " dipped." 

To bring my church notions too prominently 
forward, would have been a bomb shell, and scat- 
tered them all away. I knew this, so I kept 
silence, hoping that instruction would by and by 
enlighten those minds, bright enough in worldly 
matters. When the classes were all heard, and 
my seniors had received their wholesome instruc- 
tion, I used to address the whole school. Many 
were the parents and others who remained during 
these exercises, and took a lively part in the sing- 
ing of appropriate hymns. This led at last to a 
regular Sunday sermon, wherein I tried my best 
to make those people attentive to their duties as 
Christian parents. 



COUNTRY PREACHING. 459 

Did my words do any good ? Was any seed 
sown, which hereafter may show some fruit ? 
Thou knowest it, God, we cannot tell. Thy 
Word I preached, but without the whole of Thy 
church's regular service. 

In this I may have been WTong. But not one 
was there who had ever listened to our liturgy, 
few who had attended any church meeting at all. 
And in the fear of hindering the little good I 
could do, I omitted what it was perhaps my duty 
to do at all hazards. Only once, when most of my 
family were present, I administered the holy com- 
munion; but the bread of life passed by many 
without being received; only two men, who 
avowed, I believe, the Methodist society, partook 
and rejoiced my heart ! 

For nearly two years our services were kept np, 
then there came a change. The Yount's estate 
had been sold, farms had changed hands, others 
left, my own health was greatly impaired by 
severe and protracted illness, and the Oakville ser- 
vices were among the things of the "past." 



460 MY FIRST-BORN. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

MY FIRST-BORN. 

Those who have read the first part of this 
Checkered Life may remember the joy I felt, 
when at Brussels my first-born gave me the 
precious title of father. 

Of his younger brother, born on American soil, 
I have often spoken, perhaps with paternal ego- 
tism. But of him, whom I held in my arms, when 
for the last time catching a glimpse of the native 
shores, I have said nothing. 

Named after him, whom I used to call my 
spiritual father, "the pastor of the Witness," 
he remained in all our changes the *^ first-born." 
What this means, only a father can understand. 
When under my guidance, too often interfered 
with by my constant labor of preaching and 
teaching, he had attained his fourteenth year, and 
made good progress in classical study, General 
Keyes offered to have him appointed a cadet at 
West Point. 

It was at the time of our bereavement, when 
four had left us, and our bleeding hearts clung 
with the more yearning to the remaining ones. 
My wife in this proved again to have the better 
judgment. She- was in favor of the sacrifice. 
And she was right! For, at that time, certainly, 



MY FIRST-BORN. 461 

no education could be obtained here to compare 
with the training at West Point; not to speak of 
the noble career of a soldier always ready to serve 
his country. But my weakness prevailed, and he 
remained with us, receiving a further education at 
Santa Clara college, and fitting himself for the 
science of engineering. With this he was prac- 
tically engaged, when, through the kindness of 
a friend, he received an appointment in the Sur- 
vevor- General's office. 

The civil war broke out, and a reduction in the 
clerical department became necessary. He was 
the last one retained, and when he too had to 
leave, he received, through the kindness of our 
friend James W., an appointment on the Coast 
Survey. A serious indisposition made him resign, 
but when recovered, he got an excellent position 
at the Provost-Marshal- General's office. There 
he became acquainted with General Mason, taking 
command in Arizona, who offered him a place on 
his staff as adjutant. He went and served a year, 
when General Mason left and wished him to re- 
main with his successor ; but his attachment to 
the General was great, and losing him, Arizona 
lost its attraction. 

' Not long after his return, he was struck with 
serious illness, and came to La Lomita, where out- 
door exercise and country fare soon gave returning 
health. But w4iy Arizona had no attraction for 
him just now, began to leak out. And so it hap- 
pened that on the vernal equinox of 1868, to use 



462 MY FIRST-BORN. 

an astronomical term, I performed a marriage 
ceremony at La Lomita. For on that day I 
united my '^first-born" in holy wedlock to the 
daughter of one of our oldest and most-esteemed 
citizens. A day not easily forgotten, and which 
we duly sanctified by the holy communion. 

Thus I became indeed a '^ patriarch" in my own 
domain. My "first-born" and his wife dwelt for 
a short time with' us under the roof which my 
'^ second-born" had built, and I need not say that 
my heart was thankful. For age began to tell, 
and the assistance of a young and able man was 
much for one who often was prostrated with seri- 
ous illness. 

Yet, I said, '^ for a short time," and so it was. 
For our fifteen acres did not seem to offer a suffi- 
cient field of action for one so strong and young. 
In vain he tried to get the lease or property of 
some adjoining land. The Younts' estate was not 
yet sold, and strange enough, no chance there was 
for anything, even at a distance. So, after aiding 
and comforting us during the summer, they left us 
for the city, where my son found soon employ- 
ment. 

Yet weak I was from a long spell of illness, 
when, on the fifth of October, five years had 
elapsed since the death of our dear "patriarch," 
the time he had by testament appointed for the 
sale of his estate. 

I went to the sale. Though feverish and 
languid, I went. For long since 1 had speculated 



MY FIRST-BORN. 463 

upon the possibility of buying a tract of land ad- 
joining my fifteen acres, a valley with perennial 
spring, enclosed by a range of hills, all covered 
with everofreens and- manzanitas. This tract was 
marked out on the map as a separate portion 
to be sold. Just the thing. About forty acres, 
of which some thirty would make a splendid vine- 
yard. From four to ten dollars the acre was the 
general estimate. My mind was set upon it. 
Without it our fifteen acres were little worth; with 
this addition La Lomita became a property worth 
having indeed ! Fifteen or twenty acres in " for- 
eign " vines would make a great addition ! 

And so I reasoned, foro^ettinof the mortofao-e with 
accumulatinof interest, became due at the end of 
the same year. I went to that sale with an idea 
that it had to be bought. And, when perceiving 
that the bids were generally high, I concluded to 
gO as far as twenty dollars per acre, not further. 
Up and up it went, and sure enough, twenty dol- 
lars bought it ! There was a mixture of triumph 
and of anxiety in my unpractical mind, when sign- 
ing the draft for one-tenth the amount. I came 
home as with glad tidings, yet there was a min- 
gled feeling of a.nxiety. I remember that very 
well. 

Then came the care and expense of fencing in 
the new domain, so as to keep out the roving cat- 
tle and horses; what trees to cut, Avhat acres of 
" buckeyes" to clear; this was followed by the vin- 
tas'e, which I sold to the next wine maker, sold it 



^Q4: MY FIRST-BORN. 

at a trifling price, scarcely paying for the trouble 
of gathering and carting. 

During the vintage, my son came to see me with 
his family. For his first-born came, just to the 
day, a century after his great grandfather was 
born, and just to the day, sixty years after his 
grandfather saw the earthly light. The co- 
incidence was strange, at least in my egotistical 
eyes and with my name, I hope this younger " Leno" 
will have good luck in the New World. 

And the next one who came to multiply the 
family name, was a little girl, a few months old 
w^hen the ^' family" came to see the "grand-parents" 
at La Lomita. 

Advancing in years, we seem* to live again in 
our children and grandchildren, and great was our 
joy in seeing the little ones trundled about by 
their " aunty," our seven-years-old Leonie, who 
came to take the place of our four departed an- 
gels. Great was our sorrow when seeing them 
leave, the allotted time for rest being past. But 
with the parting grief there was a gleam of 
hope. 

For seeing my weakened health, and the inces- 
sant care before me, my "first-born" thought of 
giving up his position in the city, and joining us 
in our humble home. It seemed risky, but filial 
attraction prevailed; and though pressed hard by 
his kind employers, who appreciated his faithful 
and conscientious services, he concluded to leave 
and assist his aged parent. 



MY FIRST-BORN. 465 

Thus it pleased God to reward me for the care 
I had bestowed upon my suffering father ! The 
" parent-nursing son," received his reward when 
age and trouble increased. My second-born had 
worked hard and long to aid me in La Lomita; my 
first-born sacrificed a safe and good position to aid 
me with his labor and means in making La Lomita 
a homestead for old age. 

And with youthful ardor he worked at an exten- 
sion of our " patriarchal dwelling," as my aged sis- 
ter used to call it in her monthly letters from Eu- 
rope. He improved the work of his younger 
brother, and, when once we were settled, he built 
with his own hands, a milk-house of concrete; and 
later in the course of the year, a wine cellar, which 
in its solid concrete walls could hold some twenty 
thousand gallons. 

So that I could say, not without some pride, 
that whatsoever there was at La Lomita, of house, 
and barn, and stable, and cellars for wine and vine- 
0"ar, for butter and milk, was built by the hands 
of my two sons. No wonder if my heart began 
to cling to the place ! 

When Christmas approached, the house being 
ready, the w^hole family was gathered under our 
roof. Our Gertrude, with her husband and son, 
our " first-born " with his wife and children, our 
faithful Alfred, all were there, and thankfully 
enjoyed the holy festival. And leaving us they 
left us not alone, for our son and daughter now 
remained with us. 

30 



^QQ AN EXPERIMENT. 



CHAPTEK XXXII. 

AN EXPERIMENT. 

With joyful expectation we looked to our vine- 
yard. Pruning and plowing, harrowing and clip- 
ping, suckering and sulphuring kept us busy 
during the spring of 1871. The w^eather was 
favorable. No blasting frost, and soon the green- 
ing vines gave a cheering promise, whilst the 
many roses and lilies in our " ornamental" grounds 
seemed to encourage us in our constant efforts. 

But what to do with the forty acres bought and 
paid for, increasing my already appalling mort- 
gage ? Too late now^ for cultivation ; not yet 
fenced in, and cattle roaming around, it was even 
not safe for pasture ! My son had an idea, and a 
good one it was; but like all ideas, requiring 
^^ practice " to make it ^' bearing fruit." 

Fowls are in demand, eggs are always market- 
able. So he built coops and fences, bought fowls, 
and soon the little valley near the spring was alive 
with all sorts of cackling hens and crowing roost- 
ers, from the common breed to the most dignified 
brahma. This gave him more care than one 
might think. But summer was coming, and our 
vineyard continued promising a large crop without 
much additional labor. 

In the meantime I was laid on a bed of sickness 



AN EXPERIMENT. 467 

for a whole month. I was in my sixty-third year, 
the murder year, as the Netherlanders call it, and 
I often little thought that I would live long 
enouD;-!! to write these lines three years later! 

When recoverinof and sfaininof strenofth, I be- 
gan to consider that momentous question : " What 
to do with my crop ? " 

The wine-makers offered very little, and that 
little at a disadvantaofe. I beofan to reason : 

" Ten pounds of my good grapes will give me 
eight cents, if sold and humbly carried, at my 
expense, to the wine man. Ten pounds of my 
good grapes will make a gallon of good wine, 
worth at least thirty-seven cents. Why not make 
the wine ? Common sense would say so." 

Thus I reasoned, and in my simplicity con- 
cluded to follow common sense. 

From an acquaintance, honest Mr. P., I gained 
information concerning the necessary things for 
•' making wine." It was only a little more than I 
expected, but even that little I had not ! 

Yet, it seemed too hard to lose so much! Sup- 
pose my vintage w^as 100,000 pounds, and it prom- 
ised that, selling to the wine-makers, would give 
me $800. Making wine myself, would give me 
at least $4000. Enough to pay off the mort- 
gage and have something left. 

No doubt ! I had to make my crop into wine. 
And so I began my experiment, with a loan suffi- 
cient, as I thought, to pay the expenses, and which 
would be repaid as soon as the wine was made 



468 AN EXPERIMENT. 

and sold. The loan was obtained from a dear 
friend, whom I have already named. 

And so the tanks were built, and the press, and 
the lever J and the crusher; and the pipes to hold 
the coming wine, were ordered. And the vintage 
proved to be what we expected. Ten thousand gal- 
lons of good wine was the yield of my fifteen acres 
that year. 

It was even more than I really expected. But 
pipes were costly that year. The vintage was large 
everywhere; and the amount expended in the 
necessary implements and work was beyond my 
expectation. However, the cellar was full of wine. 
At the lowest valuation, and I had come down 
considerably, it would pay the expense and leave 
something to get along. 

And so we passed the spring of 1872 in con- 
stant- expectation. Some was sold, some was sent 
expecting to be sold ; but at the moment I write 
this, more than one- third is waiting for sale ! 

My experiment did cost me dear. Not a man 
of " business," I reaped the fruit of my sim- 
plicity ! 

The '^ clog in the wheel " had become heavy; in 
fact, another " clog " had been added, and the year 
1872 passed in anxious trouble, whilst my dear 
son's experiment in the '^ fowl " line was not more 
promising. 

In the meantime interest had to be paid, and 
the vineyard cared for as if it had made me quite 
comfortable. All this induced my good son to 



AN EXPERIMENT. 469 

seek employment in the city, the more so as my 
health seemed improving. 

He succeeded, and in the fall of that year, 
which I call my annee sinistre, he left me with his 
dear family. Yet La Lomita, which had been 
honored with his marriage, was further honored 
with being the birthplace of his second son, whom 
I baptized with the name of my first ancestor, 
Kudolf de Hapsburg ! 



470 FAREWELL, LA LOMITA. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

FAREWELL, LA LOMITA! 

However, in the early spring of 1872, the ex- 
periment was not yet proven a failure, and with 
renewed health I began to improve the additional 
tract of our domain. Even should wine not pay, 
grapes would always be more profitable than waste 
land. And whilst my old vineyard consisted of 
two-thirds mission grapes, the new one, on a still 
better soil, would all be "foreiofn" of the best 
quality. 

So to work I went. ^^ Where the buckeye 
grows, the vine will thrive," is the saying. And 
a huge amount of buckeyes had to be removed, 
besides some thrifty live oaks. When the ground 
w^as cleared, the labor of plowing was not small. 
But at last the green and shady slopes were 
changed into light red loomy soil, ready to be 
staked and to receive the tender slips of foreign 
growth. Towards the end of April, the last of 
sixteen thousand slips were planted ; and then 
began another " outlay " and another work. 

For useless it was to plant, and leave the new 
vineyard exposed to the inroads of horses and 
cattle. Partly useless Avas the board fence pro- 
tecting the bearing vineyard against animals, but 
not against the many ^^human" transgressors of 



FAREWELL, LA LOMITA. 471 

the eighth commandment. So we concluded to 
enclose the Tvhole with picket fence, using the 
boards on the hill- top. 

All this led to further outlay, increasing my 
liabilities. It was not prudent. It was relying 
too much on the profitable sale of the ten thou- 
sand gallons. And when time run on, no sale was 
made, nor any prospect dawned far off, my soul 
became weary, my body weak, and towards ap- 
proaching vintage I was again prostrated, this 
time with pneumonia. 

A month or more I was unable to leave mv 
bed; at last, through the skillful care of Dr. 
Adams, of St. Helena, I slowly recovered. But it 
was very slow indeed, nor could I take any care 
of the vintaofe. 

My trusty wife, in this as on many other occa- 
sions, showed me how blessed it is for an unprac- 
tical man to have a practical helpmate. With her 
own hands she packed and dispatched to market 
what there was of foreign grapes ; and for the 
mission crop she went herself to make a contract 
with a wine man in the neio^hborhood : and a of'ood 
contract she made, considering the time, as there 
was scarcely any demand for grapes. 

When I had recovered suffiqient strength, we 
went to pass the Christmas time with our daugh- 
ter Gertrude. It did me good to see my brethren 
in the ministry, to hear once more the blessed lit- 
urgy, to preach once more the saving gospel Avhen 
occasion offered. It did me good to see my chil- 



472 FAREWELL, LA LOMITA. 

dren and grandchildren ; to meet often and often 
old parishioners who gladly recognized their old 
pastor. It did me good to be once more in the 
midst of the turmoil of city life ; to speak a pass- 
ing word of comfort, to hear a passing word of 
thankful recognition. The words of the rabbi 
came back to my mind. True, I was an old man 
now, but does the spirit know of years ? And are 
the teachings of gray-headed experience less use- 
ful than those of less experienced, though talented, 
youth ? 

I had tried my best to secure an independency; 
a home for my wife and remaining child. Indeed I 
had worked hard, and cheerfully submitted to 
many privations. But success had not crowned my 
efforts ; probably because I was not in my proper 
sphere. Anyhow, the providence of God had 
allowed it, and my many years of partial seclusion 
had borne their fruit. For, in the silent hours of 
country life, the mind is free from external impres- 
sions, and seems more easily drawn to the source 
of truth. Human opinions and devices lose their 
influence, and the plains of Galilee were more apt 
to produce the stern, though simple-minded, apos- 
tles, than would have been the noisy streets of Je- 
rusalem with their sharp contending Pharisees and 
Sadducees. 

These thoughts were in my mind and the sub- 
ject of our converse, when in the spring of 1873 
returning to La Lomita. This time I seemed to 
have come to the right decision, for she approved 



FAREWELL, LA LOMITA. 473 

of it at once. And experience had taught me to 
put great reliance on her opinion ! 

During the summer months we attended as 
usual to our duties. But either rent, or sale, of La 
Lomita was decided upon. Our friends were in 
favor of sale. It would cancel our indebtedness, 
and perhaps leave something over. Now and 
then a silent sigh would escape, when looking 
round at the blooming grounds and promising 
vines ; now and then we would remember the 
many years passed in labor and privation ; then 
again the many blessings we had enjoyed in the 
home v/e were to leave. 

But when our first-born wrote : " Come to us, 
and cheer our home; there is a room and a cozy 
study for your meditations. Come to us, and let 
us enjoy Thanksgiving-day together;" then we 
began to stir and to move. A reliable person was 
put in charge until a sale was effected, and soon 
from the cars we s^^w La Lomita with its hills and 
vineyard and cozy dwelling vanish from our sight. 

Just thirty years before I stood on the ^^ Jose- 
phine," Avatching the vanishing shores of France, 
my "first-born" in my arms. Now my "first- 
born " was to fold his ao^ed father in his arms ! 
And seeing the hills disappear, I repeated the 
same encouraging words of the psalmist : "I 
will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence 
cometh my help." 



474 CONCLUSION. 



CONCLUSION. 



Twelve years ago, having finished my record of 
the Old World, I laid down my pen, ^' not weary," 
but fearing to weary others. 

Now I confess to being "weary," and glad to 
have come to the end of my task. In all sim- 
plicity I have related the course of my life in the 
New World, with its trials and blessings, its mis- 
takes and its good works. I have passed nothing, 
hidden nothing, and tried to make it clear where 
I erred, clear also where the hand of Providence 
came to my rescue. 

And it often did! For from childhood to old 
age, in various countries of Europe, on the At- 
lantic coast and on the Pacific shores, the provi- 
dence of God gave me friends and helpers. Ene- 
mies I never had; if so, I never knew them. 
But friends I had many! Some are gone to rest ; 
a few may read these lines. 

The Baron and Lady Marie are gone ; her last 
letter to me was one of loving affection, in 1868. 
My eldest pupils, Adolphe* and Charles, are gone; 
Charles's last letter came in 1871. The Chevalier 
is gone; his last loving letter came in 1866. 
Professor Tydeman is gone ; his last letter came in 



CONCLUSION. 475 

1862. The Pastor of the Witness is gone ; his 
last letter of love to us came in 1864. 

But with his daughter Melinda we have yet 
sweet intercourse by letter; and so with Eleonore, 
my first pupil, the loving sister of Adelaide ; and 
last, not least, wdth Emily, my aged sister, w^ho, 
thirty years ago, left us at Burlington. 

And now I look with solemn reflection upon the 
years gone by. They seem a short time ; yet in 
that short time what have I done ? 

When, in the Old World, I gave up worldly 
prospects, to devote myself to the Christian edu- 
cation of youth, my intention was good. 

When, in the New World, I gave up kind 
friends and their help, to serve the cause of 
Christ in the Church, my intention was good. 

When I gave up a sweet home and congenial 
associations in the East, to be a missionary in the 
far-off West, my intention was good. 

When I gave up my parish in San Francisco, to 
found the first Christian school for the dausfhters 
of the Church, my intention was good. 

When, ruined by fire, I tried to make a home- 
stead for my wife, my intention was good. 

Good intentions have their value in the balance 
of God — not in that of human justice. 

And this is the only balm to sweeten the regret 
of so many years, apparently passed without re- 
sult. So many years ? Yes, they are many ; for 
take them only twenty-eight times, and you come 
to the Cross on Calvary ! 



476 CONCLUSION. 

Without result ? Who knows ? Times lose no 
time. Many a seed may have borne fruit without 
my knowledge, through the grace of God. His 
w^ay of ^^ building up " a human soul is hidden 
from our sight. Enough for me that I am 
" built," and am a ^^ stone " in His Holy Temple ! 
Enough for me that she, whom He gave to me 
for all eternity, is " built," and that together we 
may pray and praise His Holy Name ! 

June, 1874. 




